Irreversible
by Sandfire Kat
Summary: They were cardinal rules. Don't lose control. Don't slip up. Don't make a mistake, and if you did, you'd better fix it, and fast. Jonathan and Cameron had been taught this; both of them had had it ingrained in their memory. Etched, and permanent, and ever-present. But Jonathan couldn't fix this mistake in time. It was too late. Cameron suffocated. He was gone. He'd lost his brother
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I was so sad when Deception was cancelled, so I decided to write for it a little bit! I have a lot of plans for this story, but I'm not too sure whether or not people will read so I'm just posting it to see whether or not there's anyone that would like to read on. I hope you like it, and I hope there aren't too many typos in it- it's difficult to catch them all with my length. Thank you and I hope to hear from you in a review! :)

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When you're a magician, you have to be in control. This isn't a question, or a preference, or an option. You have to be. It's a fact. Standing on the stage, with all eyes on you, you have to know everything. There is no room for error; you can't leave any detail unnoticed, no box unchecked. Every single movement, every spoken word, is careful, and thought-out, serving a purpose. Nothing is accidental, because you were not _allowed_ to have accidents. If something started to go wrong – if you lost this all-important aspect of control – then it was up to you to fix it before to it was too late. To change on the dime and make it so that your slip-up wasn't perceived by the those who are watching.

Magicians are meant not only to do the impossible, but to make this impossible appear easy.

You have to know every possible outcome, and every minute detail of your trick.

You have to know what to do when something goes wrong, so you can make sure it does not, before it gets to be too late.

You have to be perfect.

You have to, you have to, you have to.

Jonathan had been trying. The entire time, he'd been trying, because that was the only reason he'd been brought here in the first place. This wasn't exactly a magic trick, but, thanks to the relentless teachings over the years, the endless repetitions snapped at every hesitation or mistake, these rules kept running through his mind. They still applied. Their plan was falling through— quickly unraveling like a performance gone wrong. In response, like any magician would, he tried anything he could to save it before it could come crumbling down.

They hadn't been able to stop the heist before things had descended into chaos, and they had lost track of Henri. So he'd refused to leave unless he had the diamond in his hands— unless he knew there was no possible way that they'd failed, at least in that aspect. When he'd sprinted to the vault just in time to see Henri lifting the diamond from its safe, Mike and the other officers strewn like corpses around him, he'd delivered a hefty punch the very second the thief began to turn, to knock him to the floor. The thief had started to try and push himself back up to his feet, as if to attack and further complicate things, but Jonathan had refused to let it get any farther— he'd kicked him in the face, as hard as he could manage, and he'd knocked him out cold.

He'd gotten the diamond back— he'd thought he'd saved the mistake before it could become permanent. But he'd been wrong, upon turning around. Complication after complication ensued, much too quickly to counteract. The mystery woman – the woman that had ruined his life, that was the mastermind behind all of this, that had stolen his brother – had been there. Problem. She'd been aiming a gun at his head. Error. She'd taken his earpiece, severing his contact with Kay. Oversight. She'd flipped the tables— asked him to join her. Unexpected. She'd demanded the diamond, with that gun level to his neck. Unplanned. She'd started the timer of two minutes, leaving him stranded with the task of dragging everyone out of the vault before it could lock and begin to suck away all the oxygen in the room. Miscalculation.

None of this, they'd planned for.

But Jonathan Black was a professional. A damn good one. So he did whatever he could to regain control.

He'd cut off his tracker and slipped it into the bag that held the diamond, knowing that Kay would immediately give chase. She'd gone after Henri, but he was here in the vault; she would change gears fast. She would think he'd made a run for it – they hadn't known each other for long but she truly was so supportive of him that way – and she would run after the woman. Though she didn't trust him a single inch, he'd done this trusting her to fix that half of their situation. To stop the woman before she could get far, and to find out where Cameron was. And from there, he'd just done the only thing he could do: he'd moved as fast as humanly possible to try and pull every person out of that vault before it was too late.

There wasn't a trick for that. There wasn't a clever way through that problem. He just had to do it.

So he'd tried. He'd made a dive for Mike first, knowing how much he meant to Dina. In the moment, distracted completely by the task at hand and the seconds ticking down, the thought hadn't come drenched in resentment, or bitterness, it had just come. He'd grabbed him underneath the shoulders and grimaced against the effort it took to drag him along. Thankfully, he'd been nearest to the door. Once he'd finished dragging him far enough away, Jonathan had whirled around and stumbled back for the next FBI agent. He'd ignored the burning in his arms, and the fatigue setting into his muscles, both of which only escalated with every person he lugged out. He'd continued to race, despite his gasping and wincing. He'd pushed himself as hard as he could, to make that time window.

But he hadn't. Alarm and frantic disappointment had gripped him when the vault started to close. When he'd rushed to stop it but was too late. When the mistake had started to cement, as it sealed shut. Still, he'd tried. As if the cement was still wet and there was still a way to change it. He'd tugged at the door, he'd put in any keycode he could think of, seeing Henri beginning to panic on the other side. He'd tried to keep his mind clear, his head steady, as he called out to him.

That was another rule. As a magician, you could never panic. Lose yourself. The second you did, it was all over. No matter what happened, even if you had no control whatsoever, you had to act as if you did. You had to keep thinking, keep working.

The others had rushed in. He'd tried to explain. "The vault sucked the air out, I couldn't save him!" He wasn't one of them, but he was still a person. Their original plan had excluded casualties— had ensured everyone's safety, guilty or not.

Dina had understood this. "With the security systems down, they can't open the door," she'd said, her expression nervous.

"I can't just let him die!" Henri had begun to gasp and choke. A hand had flown up to claw at his chest, like it was burning. Jonathan fought to keep calm despite this and think. There was always another way to take— another way out. Cameron always used to say that, as optimistic as he was. Jonathan had always been slightly irritated at the rosy outlook, not unlike many of the things his brother would chirp, but right then he'd found himself wishing he'd been onto something. That a means of rescue would pop up, out of the blue. Some miracle.

Gunter's expression had been hard and icy as he'd just glared at the man across the threshold. "That bastard Henri deserves to die," he'd growled, and Jonathan had only started to try harder. The principal was the same— the focus was the same— save everything you can, because it was your job to make sure things went according to the plan you'd laid out. Jonathan had laid out this plan, he had been the director. Villain or not, he had to—

"It's not Henri!" Kay had yelled, rushing into the room without warning.

"What?" Gunter and Jonathan had asked this at the same time. Jonathan had looked back to her briefly upon her entrance, seeing the look that was on her face. The shock, the fear, the sorrow. His stomach had already started to drop when he'd turned back to the glass. His mind had already started to rush this way and that, with the prospect of another thing gone wrong, another thing to try and solve, or act against. He'd turned to see Henri bracing himself with both hands against the door, leaning like it was taking effort just to stand upright. He'd been staring right at him with a cringe, just waiting for him to turn back around.

A horrible, twisted kind of understanding had started to freeze itself over Jonathan's face.

Henri had straightened and reached up, to confirm what he'd already started to dread.

Cameron had pulled off the disguise.

It wasn't Henri standing on the other side of the glass…it was his brother.

Mistake. They'd made a mistake. He had made a mistake.

A mistake, a mistake, this was a mistake, a mistake, mistake mistake mistakemistakemistakemis—

Immediately, white-hot panic and fear swamped Jonathan, hitting hard like a punch the gut. His ears started to ring, his heart started to pound. Beside him, Dina immediately began to scream, terror choking her voice like weeds. "No!" she screeched, staring at Cameron with horror-flooded eyes. "No!"

But Jonathan hardly heard. The rest of it practically tuned out. Turned to fuzz and set to background noise. His blood was beginning to burn underneath his skin as he slammed himself against the door, already screaming. "Cam! Cameron!" he screeched. There was no more rational, methodical thought of fixing anything. It was just fear. The situation was out of his hands, wildly so. He was desperate now— he was scared. All he could do was slam on the door that wouldn't even begin to budge. He knew it wouldn't budge, he knew it couldn't be opened, but he also knew that his brother…he'd been looking for him this entire time, and here he was, less than a foot away, but separated by a thick barrier, and inside— inside, the room didn't have—

Cameron fell. He'd tried to stand, but his eyes had slowly lost their focus. His balance had trickled away, and he had gone from swaying to collapsing. His legs buckled underneath him, his eyes slid closed, he fell away from the door. Jonathan gasped, struggling to get even closer to the door so that he could still see him— see him hit the ground, see him fall completely still. He slammed against the vault again, panic around his throat like a chokehold. His voice was strangled when he screamed desperately. "Cameron!" It grated against his throat like nails on a chalkboard. Cameron didn't react. Jonathan's eyes were burning, his chest was constricting— his lungs were quickly being rendered useless, just like his brother's were.

"Cam!" he begged. Still, nothing. His panic only burned hotter, as did his eyes. " _Cam_!" His hands were hurting, he was ramming them so hard against the glass, begging for it to give. But he hardly noticed the pain. He was just staring down at his brother, limp on the ground now, and hitting harder. He needed to wake him up, he needed to get him to open his eyes!

Jordan was hovering anxiously over the panel next to the door. His voice was just as strained as everyone else's when he announced pointlessly what they all already knew. "We're locked out of the system!" Jonathan turned, rushing over to see it for himself— to make sure there was nothing they could do— nothing they could change. Without even realizing it, as he leaned over to see the screen and search it desperately, his hand went to grab tight hold of Jordan's shoulder. He didn't think of it. It might have been nothing. Or it might have been the most subconscious effort of comfort. To reach over and grab onto someone he'd gotten out of hard spots with, before. Who had helped come through, then.

If anyone could find a way out of this, it was their team, working together. And yet…

Gunter ran over as well. The ice in his demeanor had melted entirely. He was usually a stoic person, hardly showing too much emotion, unless it was anger. Now, his fear was written like a book, plain for anyone to see. Still, he was going a better job of keeping his head on straight than Jonathan was. "There's four hydraulic dials on the other side of the door!" he snapped, his voice tense. "We have to turn them off, and then turn the override wheel."

That was pointless, too. There was no 'we.' Not on the other side of the door. Even though Jonathan desperately wished that there was a 'we', there was only Cameron. And he was unconscious, already being deprived of oxygen. He flew back, absolutely terrified as he stared at his brother. He banged on the door, completely useless where he stood. "Cam!" he begged, screaming as loud as his throat would allow, to try and get him to even have the tiniest flicker of awareness. "Cam!"

"Everybody back," Kay interrupted.

"What!?" Jonathan whirled around, the very thought of stepping away making him stiffen. But she was taking a few steps back herself, and he stumbled away as he saw her get out her gun. She looked frightened and concerned. Worried, and already desperate enough to pull out this stop. He remembered her words from before, sharpened with just the tiniest bit of irritation.

'For the record, my relationship with Cameron is strictly professional.'

The look she wore now hinted otherwise.

"That won't work!" Gunter snapped.

But her retort was already prepared. "It's worth a try!" she snapped. "Get down!"

They all flinched away as she started to fire. Bullet after bullet hitting the glass and doing…nothing. When Jonathan straightened, his heart in his throat with some stupid hope that at least something had happened as a result, the vault didn't even have a scratch on it. It was built to withstand anything, and it was doing its job. It was keeping what was inside, inside. And it was keeping what was out, out. He didn't even waste a second to wallow in the failure before he was flying back for the door— back to his brother. He immediately gasped, his expression tightening in apprehension as he saw Cameron was awake again. The bullets had done one thing: they'd gotten him to open his eyes.

Jonathan hit the door, struggling to keep his voice from breaking as he kept screaming. "Come on Cam!" he begged, not even able to blink as he watched his brother slowly come back to his senses. Too slowly— he was moving too slowly, he didn't have the time, he needed to move now! The others all rushed forward as well once they realized, all fighting and struggling to see him. It was a mess of screaming, of begging and pleading. One shout melted into another, so much so that Jonathan could hardly make out what everyone was saying. He knew that Gunter was putting as much force as he could behind his slams against the door. That Dina's hand was holding fast to his shoulder, another subconscious thing that neither of them were recognizing. "Cameron! Cameron! Cameron!" All he could do was scream his name, as if that would do anything.

Cameron was slowly twisting on the ground, the simplest movement looking like it took an extreme amount of effort. The look on his face was disoriented and confused. Like he was seeing everything through a haze. Usually he was the opposite— he was quick, and sharp, and focused. That was why Dad had chosen him to be the star. Now, on the floor of the vault, he was anything but. But he was trying. Jonathan's heart tore as he kept screaming. Cameron was trying— like they had both been taught. To right a mistake before it could cement. To take his own advice of old and find a way out.

"That's it, come on!" Jonathan screamed as Cameron started to push himself up. "Cam! Cameron!" He couldn't find the strength to get back up. He was resorting to crawling, now. "Come on!" He was groggy from falling unconscious. He couldn't breathe, Jonathan had— before he'd known who he really was, he'd— he'd kicked— He hit the door harder. "Come on!" he screeched, almost angrily. He was losing control. He was going to lose his brother. He took in a deeper breath and tried to slow down. But his thoughts were everywhere, and fractured. 'Explain, I need to— I punched him, I kicked him, I— explain the dia— why didn't I drag him out why— he's going to die, he's dying, he's dying right in front of me, he— _explain_!'

"Cam! Cam!" Cameron picked his head up just a little bit, and Jonathan prayed that that was a sign he was listening. "Turn the dials, then turn the wheel," Jonathan instructed, making a conscious effort to make his voice steadier. Cameron's bleary eyes landed on the door. Agonizingly slow, he was putting the pieces together. "That it, c'mon, Cam," he rushed, struggling to make it sound easy. Like the simplicity of the explanation would lend itself to the actual situation. "Cam! Turn the dial, then turn the wheel," he repeated.

Cameron ducked his head down low, grimacing deeply in pain. Everyone kept pushing, kept pleading. Knowing they could do nothing else. They watched as he started to drag himself towards the door, despite the fact that he was slowly suffocating. "Come on, Cam!" Jonathan screamed, practically flush against the door now, straining to try and be even closer. He was so close to his brother, yet he couldn't do anything for him. "Get up, Cam, get up!" he begged. His hands were stinging, but he kept ignoring it. He was there— he was there, and this was the best way he could show it. Like when they were kids— Cameron was always the first one to be shoved into some kind of trap, with the blind instruction to figure his way out. He'd hated it; he'd always panicked and cried. And Jonathan had always stayed faithfully there, letting him know he wasn't about to leave by making noise. He was making as much noise as he possibly could, now. Screaming, slamming, even kicking.

He was there. He was there for him. Cameron just had to get out.

"You can do it, Cameron, you can do it!" Jonathan kept yelling. Begging it to be the case. "Get up!"

He watched as Cameron got to the door. As he slowly reached up to try and drag himself onto his knees. He could barely even do that. The pressure in the room was dropping like a weight. He didn't have air. Jonathan tried to move so he could see his chest and see whether or not it was moving. Whether or not he was still able to breathe. It wasn't. His voice broke when he screamed next. "Cam!" It splintered into pieces, like glass shattering against the ground.

Fumbling, and moving like every effort took five times as much concentration, Cameron grabbed the first dial and gradually turned it. Jonathan's heart stopped as he heard it click into place. He was still yelling, pleading with Cam. He heard Dina scream out behind him. "Listen to Jonathan's voice!" she begged Cameron, and Jonathan's chest ripped in even more pain. "Come on!"

"Cam!" His brother's name was nothing more than a heartbroken cry. He watched in despair as Cameron kept trying with the dials, his movements getting slower and slower. He was winding down. He couldn't do this for much longer, and he wasn't even close to being done! "Cameron, get up!" he begged. "You can do this, Cam, don't give up now! You can do this! Turn the dials, turn the wheel!" He risked a glance at the PSI, his heart plummeting and his adrenaline racing at the number that was looking back at him. It was almost empty. He whirled back around, shaking his head fast. "Faster, Cameron, you have to go faster!" he screeched. "Come on! You can do it!"

One by one, he fumbled with the dials until all the valves were released. Jonathan stiffened, and hope started to leak into his voice as he saw Cameron trying to tug himself desperately for the wheel. "That's it! Cameron, turn the wheel!" he encouraged, the others shrieking praise and support mindlessly. Even Kay was yelling; she'd lost her composure ages ago. "Come on!" Jonathan yelled, watching as Cameron tried to worm his hands around the spokes and get a good enough grip. He didn't recognize the look on his face— he was losing it, Jonathan could see. He was loosening, he was going weak, his body was starting to shut down. Against himself, Cameron was losing consciousness again, even as he tried to work the only means of exit.

"Cam! Cam!" Jonathan wailed. His brother was pulling, but he couldn't find the strength. He was barely able to get up off of his knees. "Cameron, turn the wheel, come on!" He started to still more, he started to move less. Jonathan looked wildly back at the PSI, and he froze in absolute horror as the needle finally slammed down to hit zero. He looked back, his expression falling as he realized Cameron wasn't able to twist the wheel like he needed. He was still holding to it, but that was the limit of what he was able to do. Cold dread was like ice in the pit of his stomach, and Jonathan shook his head. "…No," he rasped, denial immediately being the first thing he landed on.

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut in another flinch. He tried. Like he had been taught to, just as Jonathan had, he tried. He tugged. But the wheel hardly gave. Only a tiny millimeter. Still, Jonathan refused to admit defeat— refused to let Cameron think defeat, because as soon as he did, it was all over. "That's it!" he encouraged weakly, like he always used to encourage his brother when he was forced into doing the tricks he didn't want to. "Come on. Cam." His voice was going desperate. Desolate. "Cameron!" The wheel inched just a little further.

But it wasn't enough.

Cameron's face slowly began to relax. That fuzziness started to crawl back. Jonathan's heart was stopping, his lungs were failing, his entire body was shaking. "Cam!" he screeched, his voice starting to grow hoarse from how much he was misusing it. But Cameron didn't react at all, this time. Jonathan watched in terror and shock as his brother went slack. As his head ducked forward into his elbow, and he went entirely limp.

No. No, no, no, no, this wasn't— it—

Jonathan's eyes were blurred over with tears. The only reason they didn't fall yet was because he wasn't blinking, in his panic. "Cameron!" he wailed. He could hit the glass— he could wake him up again, like before— there was still time, there was still— he could still get out, this wasn't— he couldn't be dead, he— they were supposed to— "Cameron!" His brother was unmoving, only holding onto the wheel still because of the way he had wormed his arms between the metal branchings. "Cameron, wake up!" This beg came out splintered as well, practically tearing up from his chest. He felt Dina hold tightly to his arm. Whether the clutch was for his sake, or for hers, didn't matter at all. Not right then. "Wake up, Cameron!" he kept screaming. But the seconds dragged by, and Cameron didn't rouse at all.

He couldn't breathe. Cameron couldn't breathe, but now Jonathan couldn't either. He could only yell and cry, panic beginning to cloud him entirely as his blows got more desperate, more senseless. He was throwing his entire body against the steel now, not really hearing or understanding the words he was screaming. He just felt the burning pain they created in his throat, how it stung almost as much as his eyes did. He could have been yelling gibberish, he could have been making complete sense. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Cameron wasn't moving. That he'd suffocated in there, and that no matter what Jonathan did, he wouldn't move.

"Cameron!" Dina wailed, tears rushing down her face now. It was all in her voice: the years of friendship and comradery. Of nights spent celebrating after shows, of afternoons working through a new trick, of holidays spent together every year, simply because they were a family, and that was what families did. This was all in her voice, rendering it absolutely heartbroken. Jordan was yelling something that sounded like a string of apologies, though Jonathan was too far gone to try and figure out what he was apologizing for. Gunter, unlike everyone else, had fallen silent. His expression was completely blank, his mouth hanging open like he wanted to yell too, but just couldn't manage it anymore. Instead, he was shell-shocked. Staring with a certain kind of absence that made it seem like he wasn't actually seeing anything.

"We still have time, there's still time!" Kay pressed, her voice cracking in panic. She looked at her watch, her head shaking fast. "We have— five minutes, if we can get him out in five minutes—"

"There's no way to get him out!" Jordan cried. "Everything's shut down! The only way out is from the other side!"

"There has to be another way!" Dina snapped, echoing what Cameron used to say constantly.

"There's not!" Jordan shouted. "That wheel is all he has— Cameron, Cameron, just turn the wheel! You were so close, Cameron! Wake up!"

"Cameron!" Dina cried, whirling back to him. "Cameron, get up! Please, Cameron!"

Jonathan was deaf to them. He couldn't listen, he couldn't even think— at least, he couldn't think clearly. It was nothing but a blur of pure fear, panic like hands clenching hard around his trachea. He just did whatever he could. He was a mess of screaming, of hitting, of kicking out. The seconds were dragging on— soon, they would layer into minutes. You couldn't go without air for that long, not even Cameron could. If he didn't wake up— if he didn't turn the wheel just a little bit more, to do the final stretch… "Cam!" Jonathan backed up just a little bit, knocking into Kay but completely oblivious to her stagger backwards. He just threw his foot out as hard as he could, kicking the lower half of the door hard enough to cause the shock of the impact to lance up his bones.

He did this again and again, ignoring the pain, the exhaustion. If he kicked here hard enough, maybe he could dislodge him, he could make Cameron fall, and the wheel would be turned the rest of the way. It was all he had. It was all he could do. He kept kicking, and every hard thud that ensued reminded him of the thud his shoe had made as he'd kicked Cameron to the ground. He'd punched him, and he'd— Cameron had tried to get up. Had he started to turn to him because he was going to say what was going on? Who he actually was? Had he been trying to recover and explain himself, before Jonathan kicked him? Before he knocked him unconscious?

This was his fault. This was all his fault. He'd been too preoccupied with the plan; he hadn't noticed anything else. He hadn't even thought of the possibility that Cameron would be here, but it made sense— it made so much sense, why hadn't he anticipated it? Why else would the mystery woman kidnap Cameron if not to force him into helping her? He'd been staring at him in the auction room— had he been trying to warn him, then? And Jonathan had been too slow— he'd left him for last in the vault on conscious choice, so he was the reason he was in there. He'd made so many mistakes— he'd lost the control he was supposed to keep ahold of.

He'd killed him.

Jonathan had killed his brother.

"Cameron!" He was sobbing now. Keening. The minutes were passing. Running their course. Gunter's shock had ebbed, and now there was nothing but grief on his face. Grief and acceptance that they had already failed. Jordan had gone over to the panel, to look for an alternative means of rescue, but he had long since just hung his head. His shoulders were curled forward, like he was in pain, and attempting to shield himself from further injury. Kay's eyes were flickering from Jonathan to the vault. The expression on her face was too many at once to discern. Dina just cried in silence. She kept her hand on Jonathan's arm, holding to his elbow as if that could possibly do anything.

It didn't.

Every minute, he got worse.

Every minute, he screamed louder— more franticly.

Every minute he shook more.

Every minute the tears in his eyes built even faster, until it was impossible to keep them from running down his cheeks.

" _Do you think it'll always be like this?" Cameron asked softly._

 _Jonathan looked up from the book he was reading. His brother was standing at the window, staring out at the new city. They'd never been to this one before. Jonathan couldn't remember its name, at the moment. They all kind of blended together. "Like what?" he asked, his eyes flickering back down to the page he was on. "We're only here for three days." But he knew it probably wasn't what he was getting at. And, knowing it wasn't what he was getting at either, but wanting to mess with him a little bit, he added coyly: "And not to burst your bubble even more, but Dad'll be back with food in like seven minutes, so that's gonna change too."_

" _No," he protested. Jonathan looked up again at the way his voice sounded. This time he closed his book. Cameron was still looking outside. "I mean…is it always going to be…us going from place to place…never staying anywhere or…being able to talk to anyone, because they might find out about us? Always…practicing and never being able to do anything else?" Jonathan frowned. "I mean— it's fun. I like…the shows, and…they make Dad happy. It's just…" He was silent for what felt like forever, before he just repeated softer: "Do you think it'll always be like this?"_

 _He set his book down. He drew his knees up to his chest, and a frown came over his face. "Well…I don't know," he managed eventually. Cameron looked back at him. He didn't seem satisfied at all. Jonathan sighed and tilted his head to the side a little bit. "Do you think that would be a bad thing?"_

 _"Yes," Cameron blurted out at once. He stopped short, looking almost surprised with himself. Quickly, he tried to double back and correct the mistake. "No," he amended. Jonathan's eyebrows drew together. His brother sighed. "I don't know. In some ways…no, but…in some ways, I…"_

" _You're getting better at the tricks, Cam," he tried. Jonathan knew how much pressure Cameron put on himself— how much pressure he_ had _to put on himself, because their dad forced it there. He knew how much his brother didn't want to be 'the star.' He didn't even have to tell him it was a problem; Jonathan knew his brother like the back of his hand. They both knew each other like that. So the reassurance came at once, half out of sheer habit. "Dad just said that you're perfect at the new one. You're not doing a single thing wrong." He shot him an encouraging grin. "I'm really prou—"_

" _I want to change your half more than I want to change mine," he blurted out again._

 _Jonathan stopped short. He blinked a few times. "My half?"_

 _His brother looked apologetic. Remorseful. "Do you ever…do you ever get sad that you're not allowed to…be in any of it?"_

 _He tried to smile. It came out a little too pinched. "I…I am in it," he tried. "I'm right there with you, all the time. I told you that."_

" _You know that's not what I meant." Reluctantly, Jonathan shut up. He just waited for Cameron to keep going. "I mean…it's my name. Not yours. But you do just as much as I do. We're a team. Why can't people know that? Why can't your name be up there too?"_

" _You know why."_

" _Yeah, but that's not a good enough reason sometimes."_

" _But most of the time?"_

 _Cameron weakened. After a moment, he pressed, as if he was almost scared of the answer: "Are you ever angry? At me?"_

" _Of course not," he said immediately._

" _But Dad?" Cameron reasoned._

 _This answer came much slower. "It's not…important, Cam—"_

" _It is to me."_

 _He closed his eyes. He counted to ten, taking in a slow breath. Then he stood, drafting a smile on his face as he pushed himself up. He walked over to Cameron and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Look. It really doesn't matter. Okay? I promise. And you want to know why it doesn't matter?" Cameron just stared at him with a heavy expression. One filled with apprehension and anxiety. The kind of expression he could only wear around Jonathan when they were alone, unless he wanted to get yelled at by their father. Jonathan's expression was soothing; the way it always was. "Because you're right…we are a team. So when people say how great you are, they mean me too. They just don't know it. I'm okay with that."_

 _Jonathan leaned a little closer, a silent request for his brother to listen. To_ really _listen and understand what he meant. "And maybe things won't always be this way. Maybe they'll change. But you know something won't change?" Cameron was silent. Jonathan just smiled wider. "We'll always be a team," he declared. "You and me. That'll never change. And that's all we need." Cameron began to crack into a smile._

 _Relief made Jonathan's grin soften. "I don't need anyone to know my name," he announced. "Because you do. And you're all that's important. If you know my name…then I'll always be happy."_

"Cam!" Jonathan screeched. He hit the door, kicked it hard. Still nothing. There was still nothing. It was too late. He'd gone without air for too long. Kay had said they had five minutes, and those had to be up by now. And it was his fault, it was all his fault, and the last thing he'd done to his brother was punch him and kick him and abandon him in that room. He kept fighting, kept trying, kept screaming, but it was too late. Too late, too late, too late, too—

Jonathan threw himself one last time as hard as he could against the steel before his knees finally buckled. With one final scream, he sank down to the floor, his head ducking low to his chest as he started to break down. Dina rushed to crouch beside him, to put her arms around him, but it was no use. He just cried, his sobs senseless and violent. Wracking his body on the way out to make it sound like he was practically gagging. And he might have been. Because he certainly felt like he was going to be sick.

" _Cameron_!" he howled. He was gasping, hyperventilating, and hating himself because he could breathe, and his brother hadn't been able to.

Dina struggled to calm him down. The others were just staring, shell-shocked. "Jonathan, please," she begged, choking back on her own sobs. She rubbed his arms, to try and center him. "Jonathan, Jonathan, look at me," she begged. But he couldn't. "Jonathan, Jonathan, shhh, it's— it'll be—"

Without thinking, he shoved her off. The violent push away was his first gut impulse. Dina fell backwards, her streaming eyes rounding out in shock. If he was in his right mind, he would feel bad about it. But he wasn't. He shoved her away and, in the process, he slammed back into the door, this time on accident. He hit it hard; the back of his head making a heavy thud against it. He barely had time to recognize the pain, though, before there was another thud. Another thud on the other side of the door, that he only heard because he was so close.

For half a second, he was too shocked to move. His teary eyes flew huge, and his heart stuttered in his chest. But he heard Kay scream, and that was enough to snap him into motion. He flew to his feet, scrambling as he whirled for the window. Cameron had finally fallen. His arms had managed to stay looped inside the wheel, so when he fell, it moved its last few inches. "Back up, back up!" Jonathan croaked, flying for the door and opening it as fast as he could.

He tore it open and flew down. Cameron was on his side, and his eyes were closed. He was still unconscious. He was pale— there was a chilling blue tint around his lips. He wasn't breathing. Jonathan hit the ground hard, pain lancing up his knees. "Cameron!" he gasped, terror clenching hard around his heart. "Cameron, come on, come on!" Nothing. Jonathan pressed his ear down against his chest, listening for a heartbeat— for an inhale. He came up shaking his head hard. The others were pouring in after him, to cluster around Cameron tightly. "Nope— no, Cameron, no," Jonathan grumbled hard.

He got on his knees and put his hands together, leaning over his brother and beginning to deliver hard compressions to his chest. Cameron was putty underneath his hands. His eyes didn't even flicker at the pressure. His head only shifted just the tiniest bit, side to side with every push. Jonathan just shook his head faster and pushed harder. Kay was crouching at his other side, putting her fingers down against Cameron's neck to feel for a pulse. She had the rationale that Jonathan didn't. Despite everything, the only giveaway to her emotion was a tiny wavering hiding in the syllables of her voice. Mostly she was tense, direct, straight. Like she was with everything else.

"He went without oxygen for almost four minutes," she said, glancing at her watch again. "There's still a chance to get him back, but he's right on the brink. Keep doing those compressions. Dina! Call an ambulance, now!" Dina was already complying, her eyes wide as she whipped her phone out. She staggered away and began to dial, lifting it up to her ear as she never looked away from Cameron. Jonathan could hear her yelling out the information when the line was picked up, but he was more focused on his brother.

"C'mon, Cameron," he gasped. "28…29…30—"

He began to draw away, and immediately, Kay acted before he could, to hunch down and give him two breaths. She put her mouth over his and forced air down his trachea. And they went like that, keeping out of sheer desperation and fear. Jonathan gave thirty compressions, begging his brother between each push to just breathe and open his eyes again. Every time Kay blew air into him, Jonathan watched tensely, his heart not daring to beat as he waited to see whether or not this time it would work. But every time, disappointment punched him in the gut when it was unsuccessful. Cameron's lips stayed blue, his eyes stayed shut, his chest stayed frozen.

He pushed until he couldn't push anymore. Until his arms were gel, unable to deliver as hard of compressions. They'd already been exhausted from hitting the door; he was already running on empty. When it became clear that his efforts were weakening, Gunter nudged him away, gently so he wouldn't react as harshly as he'd had with Dina. Jonathan fell to the side heavily, catching himself against the floor. He looked at Cameron in despair, quickly moving to scramble up nearer to his head. "Come on, Cam!" His voice was completely ruined by now. It was more of a rasp.

Cameron was unresponsive, still. Gunter's compressions were harder than Jonathan's had been. So much so that, if anyone cared enough to think that far, there would have been a concern that he was going to break a rib. But if breaking a rib was what it took to drag Cameron back, it was just going to have to be the payment. As Kay blew air into Cameron's mouth again, Jonathan curled down, pressing his forehead against his brother's shoulder. Without the distraction of counting through his compressions, Jonathan was crying again, harder. Because now there was nothing left to do but face the fact that efforts were futile. That Cameron was gone.

His brother was gone.

At first, there was nothing but sorrow. Drowning, horrible sorrow that seemed to drag him down hundreds of feet— below water, or something just as suffocating. He could only sob and cry and beg Cam not to do this. Not to leave him— not to punish him this way. Jonathan had lost everything. He'd lost his pride, his freedom, his reputation…he couldn't bear losing his brother, too. He was all he had left. Now the world was deciding even that was too good for him. And maybe it was right, but Cameron didn't deserve to be the one to suffer.

At first, there was just pain. Hurt.

And then it mutated.

Slowly but surely, it did. With every shudder of Cameron's body, with every choked gasp Kay sucked in only to release into his brother's mouth, the emotion burning through his skin changed. It burned hotter, it hit harder. His breathing grew more labored, his eyes opened, but began to narrow. The hand that had found its way to hold tight to Cameron's arm curled in more, his fingers digging harder into his brother's skin. His jaw locked backwards as he slowly pulled away from him. His vision was ruined with tears; Cameron was nothing more than a blur of color. An unmoving blur. A dead one.

She'd done this.

She'd done everything.

She'd framed him and put him in jail. He'd stomached that. She'd taken his brother and held him captive. That had been harder to swallow, but he had, because he'd known that he would be able to get him back and get him back safe. She'd purposefully made it so that Cameron had the smallest of chances of the bodies in the vault to be pulled out. She'd refused to tell Jonathan when he asked where Cameron was, so he'd had no idea. She'd ensured the vault would shut on him. She'd made Jonathan responsible for this mistake, that was now much too cemented to be reversed.

She'd killed his brother.

This, he couldn't handle.

His grief mutated into searing rage and anger. He sat back from Cameron and scooted slowly away from his body, hardly even feeling the movement, he was growing so numb to everything else. He backed away from the rest of the group, eventually hitting against the frame of the vault door with a dull thud. His eyes stared unblinking on his brother. His hands curled into fists so tight, that his fingernails bit into the palms of his hands. The remorse melted off of his face, leaving only dead eyes and a harsh scowl.

He didn't see his brother lying there on the floor of the vault, anymore.

All he saw was red.

Kay sat back, feeling desperately for a pulse, and closing her eyes tightly when she still picked up nothing. She checked her watch again as Gunter continued to ram his hands down hard against Cameron's sternum. It had been over five minutes. After six minutes, brain damage usually set in. They'd started CPR before this mark, so his chances of staving it off for an extra minute or two were at least higher than if he hadn't gotten the door open. But still, he had gone without oxygen for too long. It didn't stop her from giving him breaths whenever thirty compressions were delivered, but the longer time stretched on, the tighter her chest grew.

This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to have saved Cameron before something like this happened to him. They were supposed to get him out of danger before it could present itself even more. They had failed in that effort, and now they were even failing to save him afterwards. There were still things she wasn't sure about. She didn't understand why he'd been here with the woman, or why he hadn't just run to them directly once he'd seen them in the auction room. She didn't know why he was in the vault in the first place. But those things didn't matter right now.

Right now, with every blow of air, with every attempt to get his heart beating again, all she was worried about was keeping him here. 'Excuse me. I prematurely 'Ta-Da'd.' She leaned down and blew more air into his mouth, closing her eyes so tightly it came across as more of a flinch. 'Cameron Black. FBI…Observer.' She pulled away and as Gunter started the cycle all over again, she reached out to slap at his face and yell, at the end of her rope and just not sure what else to do. "Cameron!" she yelled, her voice clenched. "Cameron!"

'Well, I couldn't have done it without my beautiful assistant.'

'Don't ever say that again.'

'Yeah, nah, sounded weird coming out.'

She didn't realize her eyes were watering until a small tear traced hot down the side of her face. She went rigid at once, her hand flying up to wipe it away. But before she could, there was a sudden burst of yelling, to slice her thoughts into nothing. She whirled around and rocketed up to her feet when she saw the team of paramedics rushing in. Seeing them, she could hardly fathom the relief that snatched her breath away. Dina was running to meet them and explaining everything. They were carrying with them the equipment they would need; they were laden with it. And they were already shouting at everyone to move.

She turned and stumbled back further into the vault. Dina rushed to stand with her, and Jordan backed out to side-step into the hall. Gunter stayed put where he was, refusing to give up for even a second on the compressions he was giving in time with a regular heartbeat. He had to be grabbed and encouraged off by a paramedic. But even then, as he slowly backed up to be with the two girls, his expression was empty. He stared at Cameron, before he looked down at his hands, like he was wondering what he was supposed to do with them now.

The paramedic team snapped into action at once. They assessed him quickly, moving his head so that it was tilted back, and his airway was ensured to stay open. Two of the paramedics started to work on getting him breathing again. A bag valve mask was brought out, and they were fast in setting the ventilator up to his mouth. One medical professional held it tightly in place while the other began to start rhythmically squeezing, to get the air pumped through the mask, down his throat, and into his lungs. Another team member opened his shirt and began to set him up to a defibrillator, connecting the electrodes to his chest and side.

Kay had to close her eyes when they delivered the shock. The very instant Cameron's body began to jerk and twitch viscerally in reaction to the surge, she found she couldn't stomach it. She'd seen plenty of things in her time as an FBI agent…dead bodies, victims who may have been better off dead…but this, she couldn't face. For the life of her, she couldn't watch this. Her friend. Someone who had at first only been a nuisance, but an unfortunately needed one. Someone who, for some stupid reason or another, she had softened towards. Someone she'd actually grown to like.

So she couldn't watch. Not this time.

The defibrillator went through its first shock. Nothing occurred as a result of it, and in the break of waiting to see if it would take effect, the paramedics went back to compressions and oxygen. They were doing everything they could. The defibrillator charged up again, humming until it was ready, and they pulled away when it delivered yet another wave of electricity. Again, Cameron only spasmed and fell still afterwards. Dina was watching through her fingers, her lips trembling. From out in the hall, Jordan had long since turned away, hunching against the wall like he was propping up a million pounds of weight. Still, Gunter just stared in shock and denial.

They went again. And again. And again. More oxygen, more compressions, more anything.

It was getting to be too late. Too dire. Too impossible.

But Cameron Black kind of _did_ impossible.

It was so quiet, that at first, none of the others actually heard it. But the paramedics did, and they immediately drew away to make sure.

It was a tiny gasp, weak and grating against his throat on the way down. It was barely anything— hardly enough air to even begin to satisfy. But Cameron sucked in the breath on his own. It was weak, and it was shallow, but it was there. At the paramedics' reaction, Kay's head snapped back around, and Dina's hands went down to cover her mouth, instead of her eyes. Sure enough, Cameron's chest was stirring with the faintest trace of life again. Kay could hear him rasping from where she stood. It didn't sound good. But it was a sound. And she found a shocked and ecstatic laugh bubbling out of her as she too slapped a hand over her mouth. A fresh wave of tears burned her eyes, though she still tried her best not to let them fall.

"We got him, we got him," one of the paramedics blustered tensely. "Get him on the stretcher, we need to get him to the hospital, _now_." And they leapt back into motion to do exactly that. One stayed to keep the ventilator on him, still pumping in air at the normal rhythm. The others worked around her, and transitioned Cameron to the gurney, strapping him in place so he wouldn't fall. They started to rush away, when one of them lingered and doubled back for those who had played the part of the terrified audience. "Only one of you can come in the ambulance," they rushed. "But the decision has to be quick, who's it going to be?"

Kay opened her mouth, but Dina beat her to it. "Jonathan should go," she sniffed, still crying. She wiped at her eyes, shaking her head as she looked towards the door. "Jonathan, you need to be with Ca—" She broke off before she could finish. Her eyes widened, and the sorrowful emotion that had been clogging her expression suddenly melted away in a flash. Like water evaporating on the spot. Her body locked in shock, instead, and Kay whirled around to follow her floored gaze. At first, she was just confused— she didn't see anything at all.

Until she realized that that was precisely the problem.

She whirled around, looking at every inch of the vault. And then she rushed out the door, into the hall to check there as well. To look after the paramedic team, just on the off-chance Jonathan had just torn after his brother in the first place. But no matter where she looked, it didn't matter. The realization was like a slap in the face, and it made her stomach fall away from her completely. She had been so focused on Cameron – _everyone_ had been so focused on Cameron – that nobody had even noticed. Not even Jordan.

She whirled around to the others, almost too stricken to even speak. Not that she even really needed to— everyone was well aware. But it came out anyway, in nothing but a gasp. "Jonathan is gone."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Jonathan. Jonathan…Johnny— Johnny, wake up!"_

 _Jonathan's eyes snapped open as the whisper escalated just the tiniest bit, into more of a tiny scream than a hiss. Immediately, he went rigid when he saw a face less than an inch away from his own. He couldn't see anything else, and, wrenched right out of sleep to see this unexpected proximity, he went into a tiny spasm, jerking away and opening his mouth to scream. Cameron had been expecting it, though, because he scrambled out and practically slapped his hands over his mouth. "Shhh!" he hissed, back to whispering. Though his words were sharp, his eyes were practically shining in the darkness of the room when he went on. "Don't yell!" he whispered. "You'll wake up Dad."_

 _Recovering from the shock of what had literally seemed like the beginning of a horror movie, Jonathan scowled blearily, and swatted his hands away. The smile on Cameron's face stayed, and it just made him scowl more. They'd gotten to bed last night at three in the morning— from the lighting of the room, it couldn't even be eight, yet. He shouldn't be awake right now, much less…_ this _awake. "What in the world could you possibly want, Cameron?" he grumbled, closing his eyes and flopping back down. Cameron started to protest and grab at his shoulder, but Jonathan shrugged him off with a grumble. He tucked his blanket tighter around himself and twisted so he could turn his back to him. "Go back to bed," he growled._

" _I never went to bed," Cameron whispered excitedly. Before Jonathan could say anything else, if he was even going to, his brother crawled up to crouch beside him on the mattress. And before he could object to_ that _, Cameron added to the entire situation as he reached over and started to shake him by the shoulder. Practically flailing him around. If Jonathan's anger was measured on a meter, it'd be shattering up through the top right now. "I've been up ever since the show! Jonathan, Jonathan, wake up, it's today!" Jonathan pressed his face more into his pillow, his reply too muffled to make out. Which was probably a good thing, because the language he used was more than a little colorful. Cameron ignored it, like he was ignoring everything else. "It's your birthday, it's your birthday!" He was still barely speaking…Jonathan had trouble hearing him, and he was less than five inches from his ear._

 _This did nothing. Not this early in the morning. "It's your birthday too, and you don't see me jumping up and down on your bed," he snapped. "It's early, Cam, we can do something later…"_

" _I already— Jonathan turn around!" He shook his shoulder harder, and Jonathan closed his eyes tightly, wondering what it was like to be an only child. Wondering if they got to sleep more. If they were less stressed. It must be nice…he couldn't really relate. Cameron gave up on practically flinging his brother everywhere and resolved to just flop down on top of him, dropping like a heavy weight on his twin's side. Jonathan grunted, duking down and covering his head with his blanket as he seethed. He was five seconds away from elbowing Cameron in the face as hard as he could. His brother twisted around to look at him, relentlessly smiling. "Johnny look! Look at what I got you!" He was practically begging now. "Just pop your head out for like two seconds, and I promise you'll love me."_

" _Doubt it," he grumbled. "You're the worst person on this planet. I like you the_ least _."_

" _Okay, that's probably true," Cameron relented. "But just look. C'mon." A pause. When he received nothing: "C'moooon. It's your birthday, let me give you your present! I stayed up all night for it!"_

 _He finally gave in. Eyes bleary and expression more than a little grumpy, Jonathan tugged his blanket down. Cameron's smile grew – if that was even possible in the first place – and he moved to hold up his hand and present the gift. At first, it didn't make sense. Jonathan just stared at the paper like he'd never seen one before. But he knew what it was. Slowly, the exhaustion melted off of him and he started to sit up, his eyes widening. Cameron's smile turned into a beam. "Happy birthday," he hummed as his brother reached over to take it._

" _You…got a driver's license," Jonathan noted, looking at the printed information. At the picture of his brother smiling, practically radiating excitement in the tiny box. All of his information was listed, everything in order. It was legit. Somehow…Cameron had gotten a driver's license at 7:30 in the morning, when, technically, they'd only been sixteen for about four hours._

" _No, see, that's what's so great," Cameron objected, still whispering. He pushed off of Jonathan, and the both of them sat up now. Jonathan looked at him skeptically; his brother still grinned. He leaned over and tapped the paper, over the picture. His smile turned slyer, and Jonathan began to slowly follow suit, brightening too. "_ You _got a license," he corrected. He hadn't slept a single minute. There were bags under his eyes, as if to prove this. He must have pulled strings to get one this early— he must have snuck away somehow, and skillfully, since Jonathan hadn't even noticed. He'd stayed up all night for this, but he was still wide-eyed and awake. And there was nothing but eagerness in his voice when he proposed: "And I think we should take it for a spin before Dad wakes up."_

He was running. He didn't even know where he was going— he didn't even know which way the woman had gone, but he was giving chase. It didn't matter. He would figure it out. He would find her. He would track her down ("You're better this than I am.") and he would do whatever it took. He'd let her go before. He'd lowered his gun at Kay's command, and he'd simply watched her get away. Another mistake. He should have fired then. He should have shot her, at least in the leg, if nothing else. They could have caught her, they could have saved Cameron. But he'd messed up then, like he'd messed up now. So now, he wasn't going to stop. He wasn't going to hold himself back.

He was going to kill her.

She'd killed his brother. She'd made him responsible for Cameron's murder.

He was going to find her. It wasn't a question of _if_ , it was a question of _when_.

And when he _did_ find her, he was going to make her regret everything she'd done. Not just framing him for murder. That wasn't even an issue anymore. It wasn't even on his mind. No. She was going to regret everything she'd done to Cameron. He would make sure of it. He would drag the apology out of her, if that was what it took. He would make her beg for mercy, the way Cameron hadn't been able to. He would make her last moments just as painful as she'd made Cameron's. He was going to do everything it took, and even more.

He kept running. His body was one giant ache. His legs were screaming. His arms were burning. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. But he kept going, tears streaming down his face. Anger was the only thing keeping him in motion, pushing his exhausted muscles even though they were already far past their breaking point. It was the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the pavement and screaming as loud and as long as he could. From curling into a ball and blocking everything else out because none of it mattered anymore. He couldn't do that. Not right now. He had to leave and get far enough away. He had to get out of the city, at the very least. He had to find the woman.

He wasn't going to stop.

And this time, he wouldn't be swayed.

This time, Jonathan was going to fucking kill her.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

There was nothing left to do, on their part. Dina had ridden with Cameron in the ambulance; the team had agreed without a single hesitation that he wasn't to be left alone, if they could help it. Just in case. Kay, reluctantly, had left to try and find Jonathan before his disappearance actually became noticeable to anyone outside of the group. He had run off, but if he was on foot, even without the tracker, there was a chance of finding him before further action could be taken. She could track him down and stop him from making a mistake he would surely regret. Or at least, that had been the plan when, tearing her eyes away from the ambulance, she had turned and shot away.

They didn't have a single clue on how her search was coming along. Oddly enough, Cameron was the only one of them who'd had her phone number. So currently, the three friends were waiting together in the hospital Cameron had been taken to, silent and not quite looking at one another. Dina was pacing, her fingers tangling and untangling in an anxious habit as she wore a rut between the same two walls of the waiting room. She looked thoughtful, even though there wasn't a problem to think through. Every so often, she would mumble to herself, like she was trying to line things up, or make sense of them. Like this was all some kind of math problem, and she was just rereading it over again, hoping this time it would make some sense.

Gunter and Jordan were sitting. Gunter was trying to distract himself with the magazines that were offered, but there was only so much someone like him could do with Home Goods before they realized the effort was pretty useless. Eventually, ages passing in this room, he'd just taken to staring off into space with tightly-pursed lips. The expression on his face was unreadable, probably purposefully so. But Jordan was open book. He sat with his head hung down low, and a slouch to his posture. He was weighed down with something, and every so often Dina would glance in his direction, as though she was tempted to ask him what the matter was. But every time, she bit it back. The silence between the trio was going unbroken. All that could be heard was the activity of the hospital around them, a little muted thanks to the late hour it had gotten to be.

Until the quiet was shattered. By the most unlikely of the three.

"He went after her," Jordan croaked. The other two turned, immediately picking up on the thickness still in his voice. Not something unreasonable— they'd been here for quite some time with no news on Cameron's situation. Still unconscious and unresponsive, he had been rushed away, and there hadn't been much explanation at all as to what had happened next. Waiting games were the hardest to play, and they had no choice. But still, his expression was overly raw when he continued. To elaborate, even though they didn't need him to at all. "Jonathan went after the woman. He wasn't there when Cameron was brought back. He doesn't know."

"He will." Dina's response came out in more of a snap. Jordan closed his eyes. "Kay will find him."

Tension sparked like lightning between them. It fizzled and crackled and made the air heavy. There was hardly ever tension between them— not like this, at least. They were a family. They worked together. They knew each other's quirks, they knew how to handle one another, and how to conform or adapt or cooperate. Those were all things a team did, and they were the best team there was. But this wasn't their full team. They hadn't been a full team in a long time; they had been missing someone for ages now, and though the loss was more than apparent every day, they'd gotten along, because Cameron had risen to try and fill the gap. To smile brighter, to quip faster, to work harder. Now he was gone, too.

Both of the Black twins were gone…and where did that leave them?

It was like Gunter could read those exact thoughts. His voice was stiffer than normal when he spoke. "It'll all be fine." The other two looked at him, in silent skepticism. He gave a just-as-stiff nod of his head. "It will. Kay will find Jonathan and bring him back, and Cameron will get the help he needs. Tomorrow this is just going to be one big mess we can file away as never repeating again." He sounded sure of himself, but maybe that was just because he wasn't sure at all.

Dina's face fell, and she looked down at the ground. Once again, her hands clenched tightly together. That silence existed again, for a stretch of time. Before she finally strummed up enough courage to ask the question they were all wondering. Or, the question she thought they had all been wondering. "Why was he there?" Gunter frowned, looking over at her. Jordan stiffened and glanced off to the side. She shook her head, her eyebrows pulling together. "He was…helping her steal the diamond, and Jordan, he…" She looked to her friend, and he couldn't meet her eyes. His shoulders were hunching more together. Her expression began to harden. "He punched you," she said, as if such a thing needed reminding. And this was the first unraveling of the thread, she knew, because no matter what happened, no matter what scenario, in a million years… "Cameron would never hurt you. He would never hurt any of us." It wasn't an injured objection, or a confused one. It was a fact, and it was stated as such. He _never_ would.

Jordan said nothing. The bruise darkening his cheek seemed more glaring.

She started to open her mouth to press more, when there was a new voice that caught her attention instead. "Are you the friends of Cameron Black?" Immediately, every one of them forgot the conversation at hand. It rolled off them like rainwater, and they whirled around to the doctor who was coming towards them. Their sharp reactions seemed to be enough of an answer. He was already wearing a kind smile on his face by the time he came to a stop. "You have no idea the reactions we got in the ER when he was brought in." He was attempting to be light, with this. "Most of the nurses were practically shoving each other over to offer their assistance. He's got quite a lot of fans, here."

It wasn't important at all. "How is he?" Dina demanded, bypassing the comment altogether.

The doctor glanced at her, realizing the attempt at rapport had either not landed, or it had been in bad taste. Most likely, it was a combination of the two. His expression flickered briefly, before he just straightened a bit and moved on with a dip of his head. "He was…lucky he got here when he did," he began. "He was barely breathing, and his heart was struggling to work properly because of that. It's accumulated quite a lot of strain and weakness from his arrest, and the multiple shocks it took to get it functioning again."

The doctor took in a slow breath and continued. "Right now, that _and_ his low oxygen stats are the main things we're worried about, though there is a risk for brain damage, given how long he was without air. We're going to run some scans for that, but he is going to be moved up to the Intensive Care Unit. We have to monitor him closely, make sure his heart is carefully watched…he'll need to be on oxygen until he wakes up. Stats already tend to dip in healthy patients when they sleep; Cameron's are so low already that he requires a constant flow right now. Two of his ribs are injured from the CPR as well— they're hairline fractures, but it'll cause even more pain in breathing, so we want to be sure he's still getting enough despite it."

They were stunned, with this information. Give them any kind of puzzle, and they could finish it in less than ten minutes. Ten minutes being the longest possible time. But this wasn't a puzzle. Or, it wasn't one they were equipped to handle. "But…well— he's going to be alright, right?" Gunter prompted after a moment, a little bluntly. The doctor looked at him but said nothing at first. In the silence, he pressed further. "He's going to wake up. He'll be just fine." It was like if he presented them as statements rather than questions, they would solidify as true.

"That's the goal, yes," the man relented, speaking slowly. "The issue is…patients that are deprived of oxygen for an extended amount of time are already difficult to map. It depends on which areas of the brain were starved the most— which will be affected. And already, the brain is such a subjective thing, from person to person. Sometimes the patient wakes up normally, sometimes they fall into a coma and don't come out for some time; it all depends on the situation.

"We're still waiting to determine what exactly has been affected the most with Cameron. But he is breathing on his own, just very weakly. He isn't brain-dead." He said this like it was an accomplishment. Like they should turn around and high-five each other on that job well-done. "Moving him to the ICU, we'll scan his vitals every fifteen minutes. We'll track his heartrate, his O2 stats, his blood pressure— he'll get the right amount of oxygen until he is able to be weaned off of it. If any hair is out of place, we'll know the very second it is, and we'll be able to fix it before it becomes too much of a problem." He paused and added: "We'll take care of your friend and do everything we can to ensure his recovery."

Dina deflated, but she supposed that was all they could get from this. It was all that was to be done. So, though her voice came out soft, it was still genuine with gratitude. "Thank you," she breathed. "We appreciate it." She hesitated, looking over the doctor's shoulder towards the way he'd come. Her expression weakened as she hedged carefully: "Do you think…is it at all possible for us to see him? Soon?"

This question must have been what the doctor was dreading. He closed one eye in something akin to a wince, which immediately caused the three to stiffen in alarm. "Once a patient is moved up to the Intensive Care Unit, we only allow visiting by family after nine pm. Given that none of you are—"

"We are," Jordan argued immediately, even before he could finish.

The man was clearly apologetic. "I realize you care, but we can't—"

"We're his family." Dina's voice was flat, and it left no room for argument. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. It was the only fact about her that betrayed her apprehension; other than that, she was steady. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and the look in her eyes was harder than normal, to compensate for the worry she'd been grappling with this entire time. Facing her, the doctor stopped a little short, his expression falling even more. She went on, just as stiffly. "We're his family. All of us." She shook her head. Her next words stuck in her throat a little more. "We're the only family he has, right now."

Gunter nodded. Jordan hesitated, looking a little sick. But he nodded as well, all the same. They were all family; the whole team was. From the very beginning, bit by bit, piece by little piece, they'd become one. They knew everyone's weaknesses, and their secrets. They knew their stories, and their regrets, and their hopes. When one of them was troubled, they all would flock, wordlessly, and without hesitation. They were always there for one another.

If they couldn't be there with Cameron, now, then what kind of family were they?

This all was clear. It was plain as day, in their stiffened postures and their anguished expressions.

There was nothing more that needed to be said.

There wasn't anything that _could_ be said; words weren't enough.

Staring at them all, and realizing this, the doctor's expression fell even more.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _When I'm workin', yes I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's workin' hard for you! And when the money comes in for the work I do, I'll pass almost every penny on to you!"_

 _They were driving with the windows rolled down, on some back road that nobody would ever go. Not usually in general, but certainly not this early in the morning. The entire road was empty, save for the two of them, and that was exactly how they both liked it. There were no flashing lights, no people clambering to talk to them, no pressure to perform, no scrutinizing gaze following them to make sure what they pulled off was right. But most importantly…there was no separation. There was no distance, no secrecy. They were both there, together, singing loud enough to be heard at the same time._

 _That was the best part._

 _That was what made it truly special._

" _When I come home, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you!"_

 _It was summer, but the early hour didn't have any of the humidity that was sure to come later. The wind coming through the windows was warm and cool at the same time. It was near prefect. The only thing wrong with them being down was that the music was a little harder to hear. But they'd quickly remedied it by just cranking it up as high as they could. Cameron was sitting in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dashboard. He was singing both the main part and the back-up somehow, that goofy smile still fixed in place. The smile that Jonathan was wearing too— but certainly it didn't look as stupid on him?_

" _And if I grow old, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's growin' old with you!"_

 _Jonathan was at the wheel, pushing just a teensy hair above the speed limit. He'd hesitated at first – they both knew the rules, and this was going against practically every one of them – but he'd left the hesitation behind, on the highway. Now, he was just ecstatic. The wind was in his hair, his brother was with him, they were miles away from everything else, and for the first time in a very long time, he just felt normal. If he ignored the fact that paper in the glovebox didn't have his name on it— if he forgot that the person smiling on the ID wasn't actually him— it was just a normal sixteenth birthday. He and Cameron were just having fun. They didn't get to do that too much. It was nice._

" _But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more!"_

 _It was the best birthday present anyone could have possibly given him._

 _So, of course, it would come from his brother._

" _Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles, to fall down at your door!"_

He stood in the dark, staring. And waiting. His expression was blank, because that was easier to feel. It was easier to feel nothing…not to care. Not to think about what he was doing, or what might happen as a result of it, how Cameron had looked when he'd—

'Stop. _What_ are you doing? Just— take a second, and really really _look_ at what you're doing.'

A voice rang in his head, a part of himself still rooted in reality, and rationality.

Or maybe it wasn't his voice at all. Maybe it someone else's.

'You need to stop. You need to go back. You're making a mistake.'

He'd already made a mistake. His shoulders squared, and his stomach heaved, and again, at the thought, he felt like he was going to be ill. That, or collapse to the ground and never get up again. He'd made a mistake already, when he'd willingly rushed anywhere but to Cameron. When he'd dragged every single person out of that vault, except for the person that mattered the most. No, he'd made his mistake. His damning, irreversible mistake. There was nothing else he could do now, that would even hold a candle to that. There was nothing else that could possibly happen from here on that would amount to anything.

Jonathan closed his eyes, struggling to hold onto that apathy. He needed it. Before now, he'd tried to fight it. In prison, apathy was what got you through the day. When you saw someone get attacked, when you heard that someone else had hung themselves in their cell during the night, you needed that apathy not to blink an eye. He'd been trying to stave it off as much as he could— trying to only use it when he had to, and not let it permeate everywhere else. To swallow him whole like he knew it had swallowed so many others.

The only reason he'd been able to do this was because of Cameron. The moments his brother came to visit him, a stark contrast to the dreary and gray world he'd been stuck in, were what got him along. The times that made him remember that there was actually a place that still existed where people smiled from ear-to-ear and weren't constantly looking over their shoulder. He always reminded him that there was still a way out, because "I found this woman— she's going to help us, Johnny— I'm going to help her, and then she's going to help me help you, I promise. I promise you." He reminded him that there was a place waiting for him when he got out of that hellhole, and that it was never going to go anywhere, no matter what dead-ends were reached. Every time he came, Cameron reminded him that there was something else.

He reminded him that there was still hope.

Jonathan was crying again. Initially, it was gradual, but it quickly mutated, and he started to break all over again. At first, he'd only felt a single silent tear streak its way down. But the next moment, before he could try and block it all out, his cheeks were soaked, and his shoulders were heaving sharply up and down. He was sagging to the side, hitting the brick wall with a thud and ducking his head as his expression crumbled to pieces. He reached up, ignoring the exhaustion in his arms from the CPR he had been unable to carry out successfully, and he hid his face. He was good at that. He'd always been good at it— that had been his job. To hide. Cameron had always been the one to step into the limelight, even if sometimes he hadn't wanted to.

Now, what was he supposed to do?

Footsteps caused his head to snap up. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, to drag himself back into focus. He ignored the pain— it didn't even register. He just looked instead and found what he had been waiting for. A young girl, likely twenty, or somewhere around there. She was walking on her own, stifling a yawn. She was carrying two binders and a notebook in her arms. Her car was one of the only few still left in the parking lot. It had been a gamble, to be here and just hope that there would be something waiting. Somebody leaving soon, to go home. But he didn't have many more options. He had to get as far away from here as possible, before Kay could reach him, which she was likely trying to do at this very moment. He needed a car, and this was the easiest way of getting one without a fight.

He'd been standing against the wall of the office building, motionless and completely hidden. She was oblivious, and she kept just as much so even when he pushed off the wall to follow her. He kept silent, closing the distance between them slowly, as to not be noticed. He was grabbing that apathy again and wrapping it around him like armor. His expression was clearing, and he quickly wiped away the tears that were on his face still, hoping that the dark would make any redness in his eyes invisible. He kept walking down the lot, realizing that she was going towards a gray Volkswagen. Its lights flashed when she wormed out her keys and unlocked it.

It wasn't the best car in the world, but it was what he'd make do with for now.

He was pretty sure it got good gas mileage, at least.

'Stop this. Please.' Jonathan's left eye twitched, and he quickened his pace. 'Please, stop, you don't have to do this. You're better than this. I know you're better than this Johnny, you're—'

He rushed forward and grabbed her shoulder, reaching around with his other hand to cover her mouth before she could scream. Immediately, she went rigid, and her resounding screech of alarm muffled against his hand. She dropped all her supplies and started to thrash and fight. Again, that apathy slipped. He ducked his head and cringed, a wave of shame and sickness rushing over him so violently he almost let go of her and just turned to take off running. He almost gave into everything.

But he didn't do that. He just forced his eyes to open again, and he stomped the emotions down. He only grabbed hold of her tighter, and yanked her close, to make sure that she couldn't turn and see his face. "Stop— stop. I'm not going to hurt you." He kept his voice low, but close to her ear so she would hear. The girl was gasping, trembling with a fear that made him want to vomit. But all the same, after a few more seconds of panicked yanking that was fruitless, she stopped. Jonathan's hand felt wet. She was crying. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his voice from trembling when he went on. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just need your car. Just give me your car; don't call for help, and I won't hurt you."

She whimpered.

He hated himself.

Shaking, she held up her hand, the key still looped around her finger. The relief he felt at her instant compliance was immeasurable. He immediately snatched it from her and tried not to hear her second choke of fear when he went right back to holding her in place. Slowly, he began to back towards the car. He kept tight hold of her over her mouth. She was gasping, and crying even more now, but she still wasn't fighting, or yelling. She just stumbled back with his pull, shaking out of pure terror. "Good. Don't scream," he warned. "Nothing's going to happen to you, as long as you keep quiet."

"Please don't hurt me," she begged, struggling to speak around his hand.

His reply came out in a snap, almost before he even realized it. "Shut up." It was biting, and harsh. Reflex. Just like his reflex when he shoved Dina off of him. And as he backed up to her car, carefully taking away his other hand to reach back for the door, he felt another wave of shame punch him in the stomach. He tried to keep the apathy close. He tried to hide in it— he was good at hiding, why couldn't he hide in this?

He finally got the door open. But even once he did, he paused.

'You still have a chance. It's not too late. I believe in you— I've _always_ believed in you. Please don't—'

He pushed her away with a hefty shove. Not enough to push her to the ground, but enough to cause her to stumble enough to put distance between them. As she staggered forward, tripping in the attempt to catch herself, he whirled around and flew into the driver's seat. He pushed the keys into the ignition and yanked the car into drive. By the time she was whirling around, wide-eyed and shocked, he was already slamming his foot down on the accelerator. He was already peeling out of the lot and making for the road. Trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking as they gripped the wheel desperately. Trying to ignore the bile-like taste that was in his mouth.

He had a car, now. There was enough gas to get him far away from here. He could drive away, put enough distance between him and everything else, and then he could start planning. He could start figuring out where the hell the woman had gone. He could start chasing after her. It was all there, it was all clear, like a step-by-step guide. This was just what he had to do to get to her— he didn't have a choice. That was what he told himself as he drove away, to try and trick himself into relaxing. To try and get his eyes to stop stinging, and that shame from burning through his skin.

It was what he told himself to slow his breathing, and reign himself back in.

This was necessary. To find the woman, and kill her, and make her pay for what had happened to Cameron. If he was going to reach her, and if he was going to go through with this, he had to stomach it all. He had to be willing to do whatever it took. He owed it to Cameron. He owed it to him to do everything he could. Not to back out. He had to do this.

He had to, he had to, he had to.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was still sleeping. He hadn't moved a single muscle, the entire time he'd been in the ICU. It was like he hadn't slept in years, and he was just now being given the chance to. He'd been in hospitals before. Heck, he'd been in the ICU before— out of him and Jonathan, he was always the more likely to be hurt during a trick. He was usually the 'Cameron Black' that was admitted into medical care. Once he'd spent months in the hospital, recovering from a fall. So this was nothing new, at least in the technical sense. They'd seen him like this— unconscious and hooked to monitors that scanned his vitals constantly, making sure they were still there and still normal. They were used to seeing him pale in a hospital bed, as much as it hurt to face.

But what they weren't used to was seeing the oxygen mask on his face— watching tensely to see it fog and recede just to make sure he was actually breathing. They weren't used to listening to the heartbeat monitor and feeling a rush of panic every time there was even the smallest of pauses between each. They weren't used to the dreading, crippling fear that everything would fall apart again, and his chest would stop moving. That he would die again, but this time they wouldn't be able to bring him back.

This was the tense atmosphere that plagued them all night long. They were allowed in the room— they had been given that much, at least. The worry would have been tenfold, if they'd been forced to endure it separately from their friend. This way, they could see him, and track his every little change. Dina was sitting in a rolling chair that she'd pulled up, so she could be right at his head. She'd started by just hovering anxiously over him, but after so many hours had passed, she'd changed to lean over so that her head could rest on the mattress beside him. Her eyes were closing, but every so often she would pry them open, refusing to allow herself to miss even a moment with him.

Gunter was sitting in the recliner off to the side, exhausted and strained as he stared off into space. Jordan was sitting in the windowsill, looking outside at the parking lot, which was growing more and more active the brighter it got outside. His expression was clouded, and impossible to read. His legs were drawn up tightly to his chest, like he was cold, and trying to conserve warmth. None of them said a single word— they hadn't this entire time. They could blame it on the fact they didn't want to wake Cameron, but they all knew that excuse was faulty.

Dina was staring blearily at the bracelets on Cameron's wrist. The white identification tag, along with the bright yellow one that declared him a 'Fall Risk.' Should he get out of bed, an alarm would ring throughout the entire floor, and everyone within a mile radius would come sprinting to his aide. She was trying to imagine what he would say if he was awake. How he might crack a smile and make some joke about how he was the center of attention. Or maybe he would be annoyed and roll his eyes, and mutter something like how ridiculous this all was. She wasn't sure.

All she knew was that she would give anything for him to set off that bed alarm right now.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps coming into the room. She anticipated the nurse or the technician, coming by again on their rounds. But she immediately sat up when it turned out to be anything but the case. Kay and Mike were walking into the room, both completely exhausted, like they'd been running around all night. She stiffened at the sight, realizing with a pang that not once had she stopped to wonder whether or not Mike was okay. In the shock of everything – everything with Cameron, and then with Jonathan – he hadn't crossed her mind once. Now, she was overwhelmed with guilt at the smile he gave her, and the relief that was there on his face.

She tried to ignore it. She allowed herself the same relief now, that he was okay, even if she hadn't wondered before this very moment. But the smile she drafted onto her face for him only stayed for a short moment. Before she lost grip of it and found herself looking to Kay instead. "Jonathan?" she asked, her voice crowding with worry. Mike's smile weakened; he ducked his head down to the floor. She didn't notice the movement, though. Her attention was solely for Kay.

Kay was slow to answer. Her eyes had caught on Cameron, and stayed there, like they were stuck. At the question, she had to shake herself out of it and turn. But the look on her face already caused Dina's heart to constrict in pain even before she could begin. "We couldn't find him." Dina hunched her shoulders, looking down at Cameron sorrowfully. "We have no idea where he went. We didn't have a choice— we had to call it in."

"Did you check the Archive?" she asked. Her voice was so tense, it could be broken into halves. "He might have—"

"No," Kay replied. She shook her head. "He's gone."

Dina bent over to hold her head in her hands. Jordan was sitting cross-legged now, though his shoulders were still tense. He was silent, just staring and watching the exchange. Gunter cursed underneath his breath, shoving himself up to his feet. He started to pace, frequently turning and looking at Cameron's unconscious form as if he was waiting for him to wake up and actually react to all of this. But there was still nothing, just like there'd been nothing for hours. This only proved to make him even more agitated.

Kay started to say something more, when Gunter whirled around to look at Jordan instead. "It's been hours," he spat. Jordan stiffened and looked up. His fingers clenched tighter around his knees. Both of these things, Gunter noticed. And again, his anger just multiplied. "We've given you _hours_ to explain, and you've just sat there like a kicked puppy, saying nothing. Like you're the one in that hospital bed, not him." Jordan cringed. He started to look towards Cameron, but stopped at the last minute, like he couldn't bring himself to. He just ducked his head more. Kay watched carefully, her eyebrows pulling together. "So are you going to talk now, or are you going to keep whatever secret it is you're holding from us?"

It was an agonizingly long time before Jordan could speak. When he did, his words were slow, and weighted down with regret. "It wasn't…my secret to tell—"

"We never keep secrets!" Dina couldn't hold back her yell. Jordan winced when she whirled away from Cameron to glare daggers at him. He couldn't force himself to hold her gaze, which was already welling over with tears again. She shook her head and stood up, her expression more than pained. "What did you keep from us, Jordan!? Did you— did you know about this!? Did you know something we didn't!?"

The air was too thick to breathe around. Jordan was gnawing on his lower lip, shrinking more into the windowsill. Everyone was staring at him, with hard and expectant gazes. The worry had melted away for the moment. The concern that had been plaguing them for ages was replaced now with something close to hostility. Jordan took in a slow breath, his eyes darting quickly over to Cameron. "He…he called me," he managed weakly. Dina went absolutely rigid. Her eyes flew wide, and her mouth opened as if she wanted to cry out. But the shock kept her mute. "He called me and he—" He took in a deeper breath, tilting his head to the side. "He told me not to tell you guys."

"He wouldn't," Dina protested, the words falling out of her mouth before she even really knew they were there. "Cameron wouldn't _ever_ —"

"He did!" Jordan protested. His voice was strained, but he cut her off regardless. Reluctantly, she closed her mouth. Her expression was angry and pained at the same time. "He called me and told me that the woman was forcing him to help her pull off the heist," Kay stiffened, where she stood on the other side of the room, "and when I told him we were trying to rescue him, he told me not to, because she had some— some kind of proof about Jonathan's innocence she was holding over him." This caused a significant change in Gunter and Dina. The both of them slackened, their eyes rounding out in surprise. Dina looked back at Cameron, alarmed, like she wanted more information. "He told me it didn't matter if he got in trouble, or if we did, because if he helped her, she would give him what he needed to get Johnny out of prison, and that was all he wanted."

"Why did he call you?" Dina demanded, a little unthinkingly. The question was harsh, and it was a little insulting in the way it was snapped. But at the moment, she wasn't too bothered with keeping pleasantries. "And why didn't you tell us anyway? You didn't have to tell him— and we would have understood! But you just let us keep thinking he was…that he was hurt, or…" She trailed off, unable to finish.

Jordan ducked his head. "He said I was the best liar," he exhaled. For better or for worse, he had apparently managed to uphold that title. What that meant now, he had no idea. "And…I _wanted_ to tell you guys, I _did_ , but…but I promised him I wouldn't. He was asking me to help him— I couldn't say no. Even if it was the tiniest possibility of Jonathan getting out…I couldn't risk it— I couldn't take that from him, it's what he's wanted ever since it happened! It's what we've all wanted!"

His voice grew choked, the more he tried to defend himself. He hesitated, before he looked over at Kay. Her expression was unreadable, as usual. But he was a pretty good judge of emotions anyway. "He didn't do it, you know," he said. "He ran into me in the hall— he told me he couldn't go through with it. He said it was because of you." She blinked rapidly. She jerked at first, like she didn't really want to, but eventually she turned and looked down at Cameron, her eyes wide and a little hollow. "Yeah, apparently…when he first called me, I mentioned you…getting in trouble because of him, or something. I don't remember it. But…you know…apparently he did."

She was silent for some time. Dina and Gunter were back to looking accusingly at Jordan, but her eyes were only for Cameron. "He…he didn't steal the diamond?" she asked. Jordan shook his head. Kay's eyebrows drew together. She glanced at Mike, who could only offer her a shrug. "Well, then…" She turned back to Cameron, her expression starting to fracture bit by bit. "But…then what—?"

"Oh, gosh."

A new person was standing in the doorway, clad in hospital scrubs. She looked much too young to be wearing the uniform, but their nametag declared plainly 'Patient Care Technician.' The nervousness on their face paid homage to the fact they must have been pretty new. Or maybe it just wasn't helped by the fact that they were staring at Mike – and mostly the FBI badge he was wearing – with huge eyes. She stiffened even more when everyone looked at her— if her eyes got any bigger, they would pop out of their sockets. "Oh, no, I— you—"

She stopped and took in a deep breath, forcing herself to slow down. She tried to put a smile on her face, but it came out way too apprehensive to pass for one. "I was just going to come in and— before my shift ended— I was going to…see if he was awake, I…" She got distracted for a second, her eyes pulling instead to Cameron. She had to shake herself to get her focus back to where it needed to be. "You're— FBI, you're here for— oh wait, I shouldn't…but I mean, if you were going to ask for it anyway, I guess it's not…"

"What are we going to do now that the staff is having a stroke?" Gunter grunted, glaring off to the side.

The young girl was still flustered. But she tried to keep up her grin. "I was just…meaning to ask whether or not you were here for something," she amended, looking to Kay and Mike now. "And…I mean, and I'm not your technician really, but— I could call security, because they have it right now. Um, I mean technicians have to call them every time a patient's belongings are collected, it's standard procedure, but now that I'm thinking about it, this might not be a part of my job description…" She pursed her lips, blinking a bit as she stared off. Like she was trying to wrack her mind on all the things she was actually allowed to do, and what she wasn't. Like she wasn't sure.

"It?" Kay repeated. The girl roused, but just stared at her a little blankly. She wasn't too sure what to say, and at this point it looked like she was giving up trying to figure something out. Kay glanced at Cameron again, and then over at Jordan, who looked just as lost as she was. "We _are_ looking for something," she said, turning back to the technician. The young girl fidgeted and looked back towards the door, like she was regretting coming through it. But she turned back all the same. "There was a diamond that was stolen from an auction last night," Kay bridged, speaking slowly. "He didn't…happen to have it on him when he was brought in…did he?"

The girl's eyes flashed; Kay thought at first just because the question was so ridiculous. Of course he wouldn't have had it on him— Jordan had said he'd backed out of the heist. He'd given up the possibility of getting proof about Jonathan's innocence…for her. The thought stuck, and immediately she set to work in scrubbing it away before it could fester. Now wasn't the time. She'd been invested this entire time, and it had gotten her nowhere. She had to step back and be objective— everything worked better, that way. She had to step back, away from emotions, and just figure out what to do now. Figure out what to tell her boss, now that Cameron had been revealed to help out the mystery woman. Figure out what to do about Jonathan, who was on the run and who-knew-where by now. She had to figure out what to do about the di—

"Yeah, it was— well, I mean, it was in his back pocket."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _Ice cream for breakfast was their favorite tradition on their birthday. Really, you couldn't go wrong with it. Refreshing? Ice cream. Sweet? Ice cream. Nutritional? Probably somehow ice cream as well. Or at least, that was what they agreed on, anyway. It had come after they'd driven aimlessly for well over an hour. They put distance between them and the city they'd travelled to with their father. Another thing that they got distance from. They drove out until the city roads turned to dirt ones, and then they drove the tiniest bit further. When they turned back around, it was with clear reluctance. But that was part of the shtick, in a way._

 _If they didn't hesitate, it would have just meant that there hadn't been anything special about the morning._

 _Kind of made it easier to swallow._

 _They drove back. Not once did Cameron ask if he could drive. Jonathan offered it a few times, but to no avail. Each attempt was met with a quick "Nah, I'm good." So Jonathan took up the task of driving them back the same way he'd driven them out. It was faster going back, because the time was starting to become a train of thought again. A factor that they'd sort of lost track of, in the fun of it all. They had no idea when their dad was going to get up— maybe he'd still be asleep when they got back._

 _All the same, despite the time, they still couldn't break tradition. Even if it was just going through a drive-thru on the way back and getting some._

 _They were renting a house this time. Which was perfect, because they were both getting tired of stuffy hotel rooms. Places where they had to be quieter, and they couldn't even peek out into the hall, unless they wanted to risk someone seeing the two of them. Where Cameron had to glumly hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the door as he followed his dad out, because they were going out just for an appearance, and they didn't want the maid service coming in to see Jonathan just sitting inside waiting for them to get back._

 _It wasn't like renting a house for the two weeks they were there solved all their problems, but it was bigger. It was more private, at least. The driveway wrapped around the house and they had a garage they could close, so nobody would see them going in and out. It made getting everything out of the car so much easier, because they didn't have to come up with some convoluted way to get Jonathan inside without anyone seeing. Which was good, because he was getting bigger and he couldn't fit in a suitcase anymore, even though it was kind of funny to see him fall out when they were younger._

 _They pulled into the garage and made sure the door was shut before they got out. Cameron had taken up the job of cramming himself underneath the dashboard once they'd gotten back into town, trying not to get his ice cream everywhere in the process. Somewhere along the way he'd smacked some onto his cheek and had laughed for about two minutes straight. Jonathan had exasperatedly muttered about how ridiculous he was, which added another minute._

 _He was still laughing when he got out of the car, awkwardly yanking himself out of the tiny space. Jonathan watched him blandly, with a kind of patience a mother usually reserved for their kid when they were doing something particularly stupid in the middle of a grocery store. That was usually what he looked like, though; it stopped fazing Cameron a long time ago._

 _He just gave him a huge beam as he bumped the door closed behind him with his hip. "I'd say that was a success," he chirped, taking another lick of his ice cream. He'd gotten vanilla— Jonathan had gotten chocolate. There was probably some kind of meaning behind that. Or maybe they just liked different flavors of ice cream. He glanced towards the door that led inside and started to round the car and make his way over to it. "I think Dad's still asleep." It was near ten, now. It wasn't unheard of for him to sleep in, especially when they'd performed the night before. "We can probably just go in."_

 _Jonathan watched him go for a second, silent as Cameron grabbed the doorknob and slowly eased his way inside. His eyes flashed, with a little bit of caution. Out of the two of them, he was the most susceptible to it. In fact, he probably had enough caution for the both of them— always had, from the very beginning. Maybe that was why Cameron was so devoid of it. That was why Jonathan hesitated, when he went straight in. Cam led the way, and Johnny followed._

 _At first, he was tempted to believe in Cameron's logic. The house was dead silent, with absolutely no activity. He was almost worried their footsteps were too loud. Cameron brightened and shot him a triumphant smile that he returned, coming off from their tiny and short-lived adventure scot-free. The door came out into a teeny laundry room, which you could stumble out of to reach the kitchen. Once he did just that, Cameron spun around and raised his ice cream cone in a silly 'cheers' gesture, which made Jonathan grin. Until his eyes caught on something behind Cameron, and it died immediately._

 _At the change in expression, Cameron turned, slowly lowering his cone when he saw their dad standing on the other side of the room. He hadn't been there a second ago. Despite the look on Jonathan's face, though, Cameron stayed bright. He usually did. "Hi, Dad," he chirped, and Jonathan's head moved to the side, in a tiny 'Stop it' kind of way. Cameron wasn't looking at him, though. Their father only stared at him steadily, and, trying to fill the silence, he offered: "Happy June fifth."_

" _Where did you go?" he demanded flatly._

" _I…" Cameron gestured awkwardly, like he did when he wasn't sure what to say. "I mean— don't worry about it, Dad, we were careful! We—"_

" _Where. Did you. Go?"_

 _Jonathan watched Cam wilt. Physically shrink down, like he was a dying flower. Cameron always had a harder time hiding things like guilt, or sorrow, or anything like that— and it was ten times as worse when it was with their dad. So Johnny did what he always did and took a tiny step forward so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder. He set his ice cream aside on the counter. "We drove out of town," he explained, and though his father's stare turned even icier when it was turned onto him, his voice was perfectly steady. "Cameron got a license, and he was under the dash the entire time we were out where anyone could see us. We drove out somewhere empty, it was fine! Nothing happened. Nobody saw."_

" _You're positive about that." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. One filled with too much skepticism and condescension to be anything but demeaning. The kind of reply parents shot at you when you were talking about something way too stupid to be anything real. But just in case it wasn't clear, Sebastian continued. "You're absolutely certain that when you went out, in a place crawling with people that had just seen you perform last night, who would love to track you down and talk to you, that not a single person saw you?" Jonathan and Cameron exchanged a look. A silent one, but one that spoke volumes all the same. Their father looked at what they were holding in their hands. His anger mounted. "And you_ went _somewhere!?"_

 _Cameron flinched as his voice escalated to more of a yell. "Jonathan did— I was under the dash, there was— I took a jacket and put it so that when we drove up—"_

" _You went through a drive-thru?"_

" _Nobody saw, we were really careful! We just wanted—"_

" _Careful!" He repeated the word again in that same exasperation. Cameron closed his eyes. "You were_ careful _! And what happened if someone asked why there was a jacket in the car in the middle of summer? What if someone saw you ducking down in the first place!? What if someone asked Jonathan a question he couldn't answer!?" These were all asked much too fast for Cameron to even begin to address. And every question only got louder and angrier. Cameron was shrinking down more and more. Jonathan's eyes were slowly narrowing. Their dad walked closer, and Cameron trained his gaze down to the floor, already more than ashamed. But he kept going, because that was the way he was. "And were you being_ careful _when you thought it was a good idea to have Jonathan order two ice cream cones when he was supposed to be completely alone in the car!?"_

" _Nobody saw. Nobody asked questions," Cameron mumbled, weaker now._

" _Yet!" their father roared. Jonathan sidled closer to Cameron, but his brother didn't react at all. "They haven't found out_ yet _, but if you keep pulling stunts like this, it's only a matter of time before they do! Do you have any idea what could have happened, Cameron!? You could have given away the secret, and then what would we have left!? We would have nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Cameron was crying, though he wasn't blinking, in the effort to keep his tears at bay. It only made Jonathan angrier. "You could have ruined everything! We would have no show, no money— anything! Did you even stop to consider that!? Would it have been worth it!?"_

 _Cameron said nothing. Jonathan started to step even more to the side, as if to plant himself in front of his brother. "It was just a—"_

"Cameron!" _Sebastian snapped. Cameron flinched again. "Would it have been_ worth it _?"_

 _Cameron took in a quick and punctured breath. "No," he managed thickly, forcing himself to answer. He did another fast inhale. He tried to make his father understand. "But, I—" His lips were shaking almost too hard to form a word. "But I just wanted to— it was fun, we— I just wanted to let Jonathan— or…or have a morning where it was just—"_

" _Whose idea was this?" he demanded coldly._

 _There was a long stretch of time – that was probably shorter than it actually was – in which neither of them said a single word. Eventually, Jonathan straightened and pulled his shoulders back. He started to pipe up. "It was m—"_

" _It was my idea," Cameron amended. He kept his eyes trained on his shoes. "I snuck out last night and I pulled some strings to get my driver's license. I wanted to surprise Jonathan…I woke him up this morning— I persuaded him to go out in the first place. It was my idea. I just thought it would be fun." His voice was completely downtrodden and hollow. Not at all like he usually sounded. "I wasn't thinking…I should have known not to." His ice cream was starting to melt. He closed his eyes. Jonathan watched him in silence, his jaw locked backwards. Anger was beginning to make his blood boil. But it was nothing compared to the anger that happened the second Cameron started to try and apologize._

" _I'm sor—"_

 _It was quick, but it was loud, and it was hard. Jonathan went stiff and his eyes flew huge when their father suddenly struck out and caught Cameron's cheek. The sound it made upon contact seemed loud enough to echo, and the force behind it knocked him down. Cameron hit the ground with a thud, too shocked to reach out and catch himself in time. He looked completely dazed, like his brain had been scattered. He didn't even try to pick himself up at first. Jonathan whirled around, looking at their dad with an expression twisted in something between rage and indignation. It was rare for their father to hit either of them. It came out of nowhere._

 _Cameron's ice cream was all over the ground now. He stared blankly, still not getting up. Jonathan flew down to him, ignoring the mess as he just reached over and wrapped his arms around him without thinking. Still, Cameron looked like he didn't even notice it. "What was that for!?" Jonathan demanded, looking up at their father with a harsh glare. "He was trying to say he was sorry! You didn't have to—!"_

" _You two have lost sight of what's really important," he snarled, cutting him off. Jonathan quieted, but he held onto Cameron tighter, as if in silent encouragement. "I refuse to let either of you ruin everything because you weren't thinking ahead. I don't want to lose everything because of your carelessness, do you understand me?" Jonathan scowled. "You may be getting older, but that doesn't mean you know better than I do. That doesn't mean you're ready to do this by yourselves. Now. If I_ ever _find out about the two of you going out together again without me – without a proper plan – the punishment will be much more severe. Now. I'll ask again. Do you understand me?"_

 _More words were on the tip of Jonathan's tongue. He was tempted to yell, and snap. Fight. But after a moment's temptation, he only ducked his head. "Yes." It was nothing more than a growl._

 _Sebastian looked down at Cameron expectantly. "Cameron. Do you understand me?"_

 _Cameron was holding the side of his face. Tears were streaked down his face, now. But he forced himself to answer anyway. "Yes," he choked._

 _He nodded once. And without another word, he turned and walked back the way he'd come, leaving them behind. Jonathan watched him go, with a stare that was fit to kill. Then he ducked quickly down to his brother, the anger melting completely just to be replaced with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, bending down low to try and catch his gaze. Cameron didn't reply; he just closed his eyes, disappointment and shame crowding over his expression. Jonathan weakened. "I'm sorry, Cam." He started to rub one of his arms comfortingly. "He was the one who wasn't thinking— he shouldn't have done that. You didn't deserve that."_

 _Cameron's lips trembled again. His expression crumbled, and he moved to wipe at his eyes. His voice was weak and fragile. "It's fine," he sniffed. He turned and tried to offer him a smile. It only made Jonathan's heart ache more. Cameron's eyes were red and filled with tears, but he tried to brush it off anyway. "I should have thought more. It was my fault." Jonathan's face fell. He tried to object, but Cameron was ducking away. He was dangerously close to breaking down, and Jonathan knew it. He was doing what he always did when that was the case— leaving. He started to push himself up to his feet. Jonathan sat back on his heels and watched sadly. "I'll…I'll be right back, I left something upstairs."_

 _Jonathan's shoulders slackened. "Cam," he pleaded._

" _I just left something upstairs, I'll be right back!" He started out strong, but the last few words crumbled out underneath themselves to be more like sobs. He quickened his pace and rushed away. Jonathan knew there wouldn't a lot of point in following. He just sat there on the kitchen floor and listened for the telltale shut of a door somewhere above, and that was exactly what he was given. The slam caused his heart to wrench. He ducked his head down and tried to restrain himself from shoving himself up to his feet and storming after their father, wherever he'd gone._

 _There wasn't a point to that, either._

 _There wasn't a point to anything. This was how it was._

 _He just wished they could have had one day._

 _He took in a slow breath and tried to remain calm. Tried to distract and reorient himself. He stood up and stared bleakly at the kitchen, and his ice cream, which was melting now. And, to try and help himself, he turned to fetch some paper towels. Automatically, he just started to do what he did best._

 _He started to clean up the mess, trying to ignore how it got there in the first place._

Jonathan was pushing the speed limit. Rushing down some highway he didn't even know the name of. He didn't care where he was going, as long as it was away from here. Once he got far enough away, then he could stop. Then, he could think. But now, it was just automatic. Other people were driving just as fast as he was. To make plane departures, to rush someplace family could be waiting, to book it home and dive into bed after a long and arduous night shift. Everyone was rushing for their own personal reasons. Try as he might, he couldn't put his own out of his mind like he usually tried to.

The radio was off. He couldn't stomach to hear anything at all. Cameron always sang along to whatever was on, annoyingly-loud and sometimes more off-key than usual, just because he knew it drove Jonathan crazy. He used to entertain him for a song or two before he finally drew the line and reached over to smack him, and tell him to cut it out, before he opened the door and kicked him out onto the road. He used to laugh at that. Now, he just felt sick. Why hadn't he just let him sing? Why hadn't he laughed with him? Why had he cut him off? Now, the silence was deafening.

Now, the silence just left that voice to talk in his head.

'This is wrong. Turn around. That exit— take that exit, take it!'

He kept driving.

He remembered that day— their sixteenth birthday. He remembered going upstairs after a couple of hours, after he'd given Cameron space to breathe again. He remembered knocking on his door and softly asking if he could come in. The long pause that had existed between his plea and the tiny click that signaled Cameron had actually unlocked it. How he'd walked inside and stared heavily at his brother, who was on the bed, face still wet with tears. How he'd gone over and sat down by him, not saying anything for a long time.

"It wasn't your fault," Jonathan had said quietly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I wasn't thinking," Cameron cried, guilt choking at his voice.

"Hey— no," Jonathan had rushed at once. His brother had only looked at him sorrowfully. "Cam, nothing bad happened. It all turned out just fine. We did good— we did really good, together. Like we always do!" Cameron had sniffed, but he'd cracked a tiny smile. Jonathan's heart had ached and twisted, but he'd given a self-assured nod. "You're fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. And you're not going to get hurt again. I won't let you." His voice had grown the tiniest bit harder when he'd said this. By then, Cameron's cheek had been bright red, and painful-looking. They'd had to put makeup over it for their next show.

"Everything's going to be fine, Cameron," he'd reassured gently. And, as always, Cameron had hung onto the promise like it was a lifeline. Because, in a way, it kind of was. "We're both going to be fine," he'd vowed. "We're always fine."

Cameron had smiled.

Jonathan struggled to get it out of his mind. To get it to stop playing on repeat. He wasn't successful. By now, the look on his face was one of complete blankness. There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. Every so often, a tear would find its way down his cheek, but he never reached up to wipe it away, and he never wavered from his stoic stare. He just drove and remembered. That morning, the hit, the conversation. He remembered that conversation and wondered why he couldn't have had the chance to have the exact same one with him over again. Why he hadn't been able to get into the vault sooner— to grab tight hold of him despite the lack of oxygen and hold him just to make sure he actually was breathing again. Why he hadn't been able to tell him that he was fine? That everything would be alright, and he wouldn't be hurt anymore?

Jonathan took an exit. A random one. It led to a small branch away into gas stations and little food stops. It was still sort of early; the gap between the start of work for some, and the end of work for the night owls. Hardly anyone was out and about. If they were kids, they would have loved this time. Everyone was too busy worrying about themselves to notice them. They would have felt normal, they would have felt freer. Until reality had dragged them back down again, and they were forced to face the music.

Jonathan took a left. He was down some back road. The same kind of road that he and Cameron had picked out, back then. He'd driven all night, and into this morning. He didn't care to know where that left him. He didn't care that he didn't have a license, that he had no money for gas, that he would likely be on every watch list that existed in a couple hours, if he wasn't already there. He didn't care about any of that. Driving along the empty road for a bit, Jonathan pulled over to the side and went into park. He sat there in the silence, staring straight ahead.

He thought of how Cameron had looked so grateful to him whenever he reassured him.

The way he'd softened and brightened up, to become more like his old self.

He thought of the way he'd stared at him from the other side of the glass.

His eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth so hard his head quickly began to ache. Scowling now, Jonathan acted mindlessly and slammed his hand against the steering wheel as hard as he could. And he did this again, and again. He hit the steering wheel, the dashboard, the window, he hit anything he could get his hands on. He started out screaming, spitting out every curse word known to man. He screamed until his voice, already hoarse, completely gave out. Until it broke and shattered into a million pieces, and all he could do afterwards was cry. Until his exhausted arms gave out little by little, and his blows got weaker and weaker. Until he just sagged forward, hitting his forehead against the steering wheel and giving up.

Until he just started to wail and sob pathetically.

On the same kind of road Cameron had beamed at him on. With the windows down and the morning bright.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Mike left with the diamond. He promised Dina he would be back soon, adding a little softer that hopefully he would have news about Jonathan. She'd smiled at him and thanked him, before she'd just turned her attention back to Cameron. The three of them that made up his team weren't about to leave. They were staying, no matter what. Nobody was willing to leave long enough to even fetch a clean change of clothes, or even things like toothbrushes. No— leaving would run the risk of missing something. They were a gambling team, but that was too risky for them.

Kay stayed. Which was a surprise. But not one that they were willing to comment on. They had no idea how long she was going to stay. But she lingered in the room long after Mike left. Had everyone not been so worried about Cameron, and watching him, they would have found feeling of the room unbearable, and awkward. But it wasn't, somehow. They all just sat in silence, waiting. Watching as the nurse filed through, and the technician did their rounds every fifteen minutes. They watched them check his vitals and catalog them all and waited for any news. None was really offered. Cameron still slept. The sun got higher and higher in the sky. Though the blinds were drawn tight, the room got the tiniest bit less dim.

It was around one when apparently Kay couldn't stave off whoever kept calling her. She looked down at her phone and sighed, her eyes sliding closed. She stood up from her chair, her muscles stiff from sitting in one position for so long. "I should go," she said, breaking the silence for the first time in ages. Suddenly, her voice seemed much too loud. Everyone looked up at her. Of course, they were understanding. Still, she felt the need to add: "I'll come back. To see if…" Her face fell somewhat, and she looked back at Cameron. Her expression was heavy. "If something changes, can you call me?" she requested.

Dina, still sitting up close near Cameron's head, turned to fish her phone out of her pocket. "Give me your number," she said. "Cameron has it, but…"

She nodded. Wordlessly, she took the device and created a new contact. She handed it back and started to say: "I'll try and get them to understand—"

A tiny shift took whatever she was trying to say and rendered it completely unimportant. It wasn't much at all; it was just a tiny wrinkling of the blankets. But the second it reached her ears, she, along with everyone else, whirled around at once. All eyes went to Cameron, and his left arm— the one covered in wires. He'd moved it. Barely, but he'd moved it. And again, it twitched, like he was wanting to pick it up off the bed. His forehead was creasing, as if in pain, or confusion. Gunter was on his feet at once and rushing to the foot of the bed. Jordan was jumping off the windowsill and practically tripping over himself to get closer.

"Cameron?" Dina asked. Her voice was overly soft and gentle. Probably just as a means of trying to cover up the fact she was so worried. Her concern was there behind the initial layer, like a ghost. Cameron's forehead creased again, a little sharper this time, and his eyes began to flicker. It was taking painstaking effort to get them to open. "Cameron, can you hear me?" Dina pressed. She scooted even closer, if such a thing was even possible. "You're in the hospital, Cameron. Are you awake?" He didn't reply. "Cameron, are you hearing me?"

Finally, he succeeded in opening his eyes. They didn't open much; they only got about halfway. His usually-bright gaze was replaced now with something dull and confused. It wasn't him at all. It was someone entirely different. Even when he managed this feat, though, he didn't react to what Dina was saying at all; he didn't even react to that fact that everyone was there and staring at him. Did he even know? Could he connect the dots? If he couldn't, was that normal? Dina started to open her mouth and try again, when his eyes slid numbly down to his left wrist, where his IV and monitors were connected.

This seemed to spark in him some life. But it wasn't anything at all what they wanted. His arm twitched again, a little more noticeable now, as he tried to put more effort into moving it. His eyes opened a little more, and they all stiffened when they realized it wasn't because he was just slowly waking up. The attention was stemming from something like fear. He looked scared. He tried to pull his arm towards himself; if he was awake and aware, it looked like he would be yanking it around, ripping everything out in the process. Now, he could only shift it weakly.

Somehow, that was even worse.

"Nnn— no," he managed, his lips barely twitching. He could barely be heard, both because of the mask he was wearing, and because his voice was so weak in itself. He tried to pull harder. His other arm moved awkwardly too, like he wanted to reach over and help get himself out. Get himself free. Dina's stomach clenched at the sight. She felt like she was going to be sick. "Nnnnno, not— no…" His heart was beginning to beat faster— he was starting to panic. The nurses would rush in soon, if things escalated.

Dina was the first to snap into motion. Everyone else was just staring at Cameron like they'd never seen him before. "Cameron, Cameron, stop," she pleaded. She put a hand down on the arm he was trying to move, keeping her touch gentle, as well as her voice. For a few more seconds, Cameron still fought to try and get the wires off of him, panicking more and more. "Cameron, look at me!" He did. He stilled, and his head fell more to the side, so he could see her. She waited tensely, her chest aching as fuzzy recognition sparked in the very back of his eyes. She forced herself to soften, and smile. "You're in the hospital, Cameron," she soothed. "You're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine. There's nothing wrong, here."

"Hospital?" The echo was slow, every letter seeming to drag on for too long. His eyes fluttered closed, like he couldn't keep them open for very long. He still tried to force them back open, though.

"You're safe," she reassured softly. "You're safe now. I promise."

He exhaled slowly. His head fell back front. When he got his eyes open a second time, it took more effort. But he could see the others now, or at least he could recognize that they were there in general. He blinked slowly, so much so that it was more like he was closing his eyes for three full seconds. But then he focused on Kay. Maybe it was because she was the second-closest person to him. Or maybe it was because he was aware enough to seek her out on purpose. But she could hardly make out his ragged whisper. "I'm sorry…"

The apology punched her in the stomach. She was caught off-guard. Something in her chest tore, in a way that she didn't quite want to feel. Hearing this, coupled with the sight in front of her, it was a miracle she brought herself to reply. But it came almost at once. "Don't be," she said, her voice unnaturally kind. "Don't be sorry, Cameron, it'll be fine."

He mumbled something under his breath too quiet to make out, or maybe it was just nonsense to begin with. He closed his eyes. He was exhausted, despite how long he'd slept. They all watched him in silence, giving him the space he needed to try and sort through everything, if that was even possible at the moment. He looked like he was falling back asleep. Like this was just a random burst of consciousness he wouldn't remember later. But it was alright. The important part was that they had gotten a glimpse of their friend again. A surefire answer that at the very least, he could still wake up, and react, even if it was slow.

"Wh—" Everything took much too long to get out. Dina didn't even realize it, but she was still holding on to his arm. She wasn't sure if this gesture was for him, or if it was more for her. He was barely even whispering; he was near impossible to hear. But at the same time, the next question he asked was impossible for them not to. Even Gunter knew what it was, where he stood at the far end. Even his expression flashed over with pain. "Where's…Johnny?" Cameron breathed.

Nobody answered him. They couldn't.

But Cameron couldn't press more. He couldn't even look at them again. He was too far gone. His breathing deepened, and his expression relaxed into sleep once more. He fell unconscious, and once again that silence swarmed forward to swallow the room whole.

He fell asleep again and left them all to look at one another, completely at a loss.


	3. Chapter 3

It's an old saying that things would always be better in the morning.

And it could be about anything at all. When you were sick, your parents always told you that if you went to sleep, by the time you woke up you might feel just the tiniest bit better. When you were upset and exhausted, you'd run upstairs to your room and throw yourself down on your bed, resigning to just ending the day early because surely tomorrow couldn't possibly be as bad. If it was storming, you could curl up underneath your blankets and trust that by the time you opened your eyes again, the clouds would be gone, and the sun would be back.

Things looked better in the light of day. Things were brighter, when the sun was there.

At least, that's what people always said.

Jonathan had always thought it was a pile of shit.

He woke up slowly, and reluctantly. Like he was being dragged back into awareness by his ankles, against his will. His eyes cracked open, bleary and unfocused, and aching from the night before. He was laying down on his side, draped uncomfortably over the center console of the car. There was a splitting pain centered in his back and his ribs. A sick feeling was already twisting his stomach, but as the stiffness in his body became more and more apparent, it only tripled.

At first, he was too disoriented to remember what was going on. For a couple blissful seconds, it seemed like that saying could actually be true. He felt the pain but couldn't recall why it was there. It almost could have been anything. It could have been him waking up from a long night out celebrating after a show. It could have been him waking up when the car had stopped, because Cameron wanted to stop at yet another gas station to get his fiftieth bag of M&Ms. In the initial moments where his eyes cracked open and his brain had yet to come alive, he lingered in this haze and just stared straight ahead…in the closest thing to peace he'd felt in ages.

But then it came back. It hit him like a brick, and he jerked, his eyes flying wider as he blinked to try and clear away the fog. He pushed himself up quickly, gritting his teeth against the stiffness in his joints. He rubbed his eyes, squinting against the light outside. At first, he was confused. He didn't even remember stopping, and yet here he was. The puzzlement was cleared at least a little bit, when he reached for the ignition and tried to turn the key. Nothing happened— the car was completely dead. He'd driven as far as he could for as long as he could, and apparently the gas had finally run out. It was only a matter of time, but still…he closed his eyes tightly at the wave of frustration that slammed into him.

He kept trying, as if gas might magically appear after the fifth time he yanked on the key. But apparently magic didn't work like that, because he still came up empty. There was nothing left. He closed his eyes again and hit the steering wheel in anger, ducking his head and shaking it. But he only sat there festering in his emotions for a few short moments. Before he finally caught up to himself all the way, and he looked up again, his expression changing. The morning might not have made anything better, but it did bring with itself a little bit of clarity. If that was the right word, anyway.

He was slowed down, now. After the sparse amount of hours he'd slept, he was drained of every bit of the adrenaline that had been pumping through him the night before. His head was clear. His grief was still there— if anything, it had multiplied on itself. But it was like a wound that he'd somehow managed to stop bleeding; even though it wasn't killing him anymore, it was gaping. It was raw, and he could barely breathe around it. But now that it wasn't gushing…he could slow down and think. As surreal as it was, he had the smallest bit of his rationality back. Or at least something close to it.

He looked at the clock on the dashboard, and his heart sank at the time that stared back at him. It wasn't really all that helpful, though, considering he didn't even remember what time he'd pulled over and given up on trying to stay awake in the first place. It had been light out, he knew that much. And it was still light out now, though that was bound to change, soon. He hadn't slept much at all, but he shouldn't have even slept to begin with. Sleeping was too dangerous— what if he hadn't woken up for hours? What if someone had seen him? The entire thing could have fallen apart because he had chosen to take a nap.

 _Stupid. Idiot. I'm such a fucking idiot._

' _Stop_. You were tired; it's _okay_. You were just tired, and you're _still_ tired. _Call_ someone. Call Dina. Call Gunter— you can put a stop to all of this, and you can get back home before anything else happens! You can sleep, you can _eat_ , you can say that you're sorry and that you didn't mean for—'

He shook his head to clear it. Looking out the window, Jonathan realized that at least his exhausted self had managed to pick a decent place to stop. Decent being a loose word, but right about now the bar was set pretty low for such a description. If he was going to screw up anywhere, it might as well be here, would be a better way of saying it, probably. He had absolutely no idea where he was, and this was part of the reason: it literally looked like he was in the middle of nowhere. Trees lined either side of the road— he was pulled over so far that the car was propped awkwardly against the tiny ridge separating the forest from everything else. He stared out for a while but didn't see anyone ever go by. For some reason, he was showing a talent for finding these back roads. And he'd take that, he guessed. It's something.

He exhaled heavily, his eyes flickering this way and that in blatant indecision. He had millions of plans. More than millions. For the past year, Jonathan had spent nearly the entirety of his days just fantasizing about what he would do to escape from prison. They were detailed plans, with everything thought out and premeditated. The only reason he hadn't ever actually carried anything out had always been because of Cameron. Because of the disappointment in his brother's face whenever it was so much as hinted at, or the genuine regret in his voice when he'd said gently: "Being on the run isn't a way to live, Johnny."

Remembering that now caused his heart to tear in two.

 _That_ was why he'd never actually escaped. Done this.

Now that he was here, the plans were at his fingertips.

But in none of the plans had he anticipated something like this happening. Nothing even _close_ to this situation had ever even occurred to him. In fact…Jonathan had never in his entire life thought of the future as something that existed without Cameron. Not in actuality. He had feared it in little moments, like when a trick backfired and his brother was severely hurt. In sparse moments of terror, the thought had occurred. But the thought always stopped there. There was nothing after the terror, the fear, the pain. That was all it was, before things resolved and Jonathan quickly and hastily could shove the thought aside. He would never get further than that point. He never could bring himself to think of arrangements, of funerals, of _living on in general_ without the person, come hell or high water, he had lived his entire life beside.

Now, here he was. Knee-deep in it, and entirely unprepared.

He had plans upon plans of evading the police and dodging jail…but every single one of those plans had involved Cameron. If not as a partner, then as a last resort. Someone to go to if he _absolutely needed_ it, because, despite everything, he knew Cam would be there for him if he needed him to. He hadn't thought of this. He hadn't thought of how he would handle his brother's murder. What he would do to the woman responsible. _How_ he would do it. All the while evading police. So now he was completely lost. He had no idea what he was doing— he had to think on his toes. He had to force his mind, sluggish from both exhaustion and grief, to actually kick into gear and work.

Jonathan took in a deep breath that shivered on its way down. He tore his gaze away from the road and turned to scan the car instead. Something…he needed something— maybe something could be in here. In the glovebox, under the seats, in the trunk…

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She had been in hot water before. It wasn't a foreign feeling to her, as a well-seasoned agent of the FBI. Trouble was always present. And over the years, she had grown to tackle the intimidating prospect flawlessly. She knew how to hold her head high despite the weight of blame that was pressing on her chest. She knew how to keep herself steady and logical and control her voice so it didn't waver or hitch in the face of a challenge. She knew how to slow herself down and think through the issue at hand, and make sure that whatever it was that put her in this position was handled in turn.

She knew how to tread hot water.

But she had also never been in this type before. This wasn't just hot water— it was _scalding_.

The moment Kay walked into the briefing room, she could feel it like a chokehold. And it only got worse when all eyes went to her at once. On impulse, she tried to sort through the crowd and find Mike, if only to reach a friendly face. But no sooner did she find him, did she find someone else standing right at his side. And at once, it was about ten times as difficult to keep herself controlled and wiped of emotion. Agent Deakin's face was contorted in anger and disappointment, and about a million other different things that only grew severer when Kay made her way forward. To all her credit, underneath the withering stare, her steps didn't falter in the slightest.

She didn't speak at first, leaving Deakins space she could use to spit out whatever furious words were lined up on the tip of her tongue. Words that would hurt, but would be entirely warranted at the same time, Kay knew. But nothing came. Deakins was silent. Maybe there was nothing she could say, maybe she was too angry in this instant to get it out. Whatever the reason was, Kay found herself dragging her gaze over to Mike's instead, when nothing else was offered. "Anything?" Her question was a mere exhale.

Mike's gaze flickered between the two woman, clearly just as perplexed as Kay was. After a heartbeat, he shook himself and cleared his throat. "Err— yes. A car was reported stolen. A gray Volkswagen, from a younger girl. We brought her in to ask her for more details, but she didn't see who it was. She'd been walking back to her car and they'd grabbed her from behind. But she said it was definitely a man. It wasn't near the museum, but it would make sense if that was Jonathan. The license plate number is—"

"I knew this is what would happen." Kay closed her eyes as Deakins finally collected herself enough to speak. Her voice was practically choked with anger. All the same, she turned to her, already having anticipated this. "I knew it from the very second you brought him here that there would be nothing but trouble. I knew that whatever could be gained from him wouldn't be worth it, but I allowed you to convince me otherwise, and now look at where we are." If looks could kill, Kay would be long dead.

"You convinced me to allow Cameron onto this team," she continued furiously. Kay bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from interrupting. "You convinced me to allow a _civilian_ , with absolutely _no_ training whatsoever, access to top-secret files and government buildings, because you said that we needed him. And what's more, is when that civilian was taken, I allowed you to pull a _convicted murderer_ out of prison to help find him because you convinced me on that as well. Now we have a runaway prisoner, which is what I knew would happen the very second he was allowed the tiniest bit of freedom! This entire time you've been persuading me that you know best, but it's obvious that that couldn't be further from the truth! This entire situation is your fault, Daniels!"

Kay waited once again, in case there was more. When Deakins only went back to scowling at her, though, she figured she was in the clear to speak. And speak she did, after the tiniest of hesitations to collect her thoughts and organize them. "We _did_ need Cameron," she objected steadily, trying to ignore the rage that flared to life again in her superior's eyes. She kept herself as level as possible. "He's helped us solve cases that otherwise would have been classified as dead-ends. Without the help he gave—"

"Help he would give to anyone, apparently," Deakins snapped, before she could finish. Kay grimaced and looked off to the side. "That's why agents need training, need proper authorization— so we can _trust_ them. Cameron Black had none of that, and what does he do the very _second_ something else comes up? He switches sides, without so much as a second thought. You're still standing here defending him, but the very instant he thought someone else could help his brother _more_ than you could, what was he doing?" She hated how the way the question sat like a rock in her stomach. "He was helping this woman he's apparently been bent on taking down, steal a diamond worth millions."

She shook her head. "You're clouded by emotion, Kay," she snapped. "And your judgement is impaired because of that." She opened her mouth to object, but Deakins wasn't allowing her the chance to. "You care about him— you were swayed by him, and now, even when the evidence is right in front of you, you refuse to see it. He _abandoned_ this team. He put his own needs before everyone else's. You are the reason he was here in the first place. And you're the reason Jonathan Black is out in the public now."

"The only reason he is, is because he thinks Cameron is dead," Kay reasoned. It was clear Deakins wasn't a fan of the effort, but she kept going anyway. "He went out to find the mystery woman because he blames her for his brother's death— he won't hurt anyone other than her, I'm sure of it. And once we find him, and we let him know Cameron is alright, he'll come back. This situation is one that can be handled easily. If we act quickly enough before he swaps out cars, we can track his license plate number and—"

"Kay, you're off this case." Both her and Mike went rigid at Deakins' interruption. She ignored them entirely. "You're too involved in this. You have too much bias, and you caused this issue in the first place. No. I'm removing you."

"Y-You can't!" she objected. "You have to let me fix—"

"You brought him here as it is!" Deakins snapped. "If it wasn't for you, we would have a murderer where he belongs behind bars, and we wouldn't be risking our integrity as a team for allowing a civilian access to—"

"Cameron didn't abandon us!" She couldn't keep the argument from slipping past her lips. Deakins soured with distaste. In the moment, Kay didn't care. "The woman was forcing him to help her, likely under gunpoint. He didn't have an option, it was either help her or die! And in the end, he didn't even help her, he stole the diamond for himself— he had it in his back pocket, Mike brought it back! But if he'd had the chance to, he would have brought it back _himself_ , to _you_. Cameron is _loyal_ to the FBI; he's done nothing but help you and everyone else here as best he can. Just like I have. He's helped us with a number of cases, but he can help with _this_ case the _most_. He _knows_ Jonathan; he could know where he's heading, what he's thinking— the very second that Jonathan _sees_ him, this will all be over."

Deakins kept her lips pursed. She said nothing.

Mike was watching anxiously, completely silent. Kay would be lying if she said that she didn't feel just as apprehensive. She took in a slow breath and tried to press, her voice becoming just a little bit softer this time. "Please," she implored. "Don't take me off this case. Don't take _either of us_ off this case."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron continued to sleep. He didn't rouse at his name, or even any touches. He was dead to the world, and they all would have feared that to be the case had it not been for his heart monitor faithfully reminding them that it was not. But even that was difficult to trust, sometimes. Every staff member assured them that long-term unconsciousness after cardiac arrest was perfectly normal, and that they were watching him carefully. They ran tests and administered medications and checked on him frequently. All the while repeating the same phrases. 'He's coming along well.' 'Don't worry.' 'He's in good hands.' 'We just need to give him a bit more time.' Which was all well and good, for protocol's sake. But for the team's sake, and for their sanity, the broken record only made the situation worse.

He had tiny bursts of consciousness, sometimes. A burst that was so small and short-lived that it probably couldn't even really be considered one in the first place. He had moments were his breathing would hitch just a little bit, as if in fear or in pain— something that made every person in the room immediately lock up in panic, no matter how many times it happened, as all three instantly expected him to stop breathing altogether. For the monitor to flatline. But he would always regularize after the stutter and relax again. They would all heave a collective sigh of relief.

Sometimes he would mumble something, too— they could never tell if he was awake and just too weak to open his eyes, or if he was just saying something in his sleep, because when they spoke back to him he never reacted. A couple times, Dina had put her ear close to try and hear what he was saying. However, the mask he was wearing made it impossible. She'd thought, at one point, she'd heard the word 'test' but she was certain she had to be mistaken— it made no sense.

It hurt her more than she expected, not being able to understand him.

But not as much as it hurt to see him try and move. And he did, in tiny increments, every so often. Each effort was small and barely-there, but every effort was also the same. Just like before, whenever enough awareness would leak back into his system, Cameron would try and move his arm only to feel the tension holding him in place by the wires in his skin. In reaction, he would always revert back to that muddled and barely-there sense of panic, and he would try and pull his arm free. Once, he even tried to drag his other arm into motion just so he could reach over and tear it all out.

He was never aware of what he was doing. His eyes still never opened. Dina, remaining the closest to him, would always react in time, before he could hurt himself, or mess anything up. She would reach over at any sign of movement, and gently but firmly hold his arm down. "Cameron, no," she'd chastise over and over again, nothing in her voice but extreme sorrow and pain. "It's fine; you're alright. Everything's alright, darling." And once she'd say that, he would calm back down again, and stop trying to yank his way free. Eventually, Dina just took to holding his hand, intertwining their fingers so that she was there to stop him even before he could wrench his arm this way or that way.

That was how it went for what felt like forever. Other than Cameron's incoherent mumbling every so often, or the sound of the monitors, the room was fairly silent. There wasn't much to say. It was all there, hanging in the air like dead weights. It's just that nobody was brave enough to actually reach out and try to test their strength. Not directly. Whatever was spoken was stiff and short. Around two, Gunter asked Dina if she would want anything from the cafeteria if he went down to get something. She'd softly mumbled that she wasn't hungry. Gunter had nodded and left, without even glancing in Jordan's direction.

Once upon a time, everything had been perfect. Once upon a time, if someone had told any of them this is where they would be in the future, they likely all would have laughed them off and dismissed it all. They used to be a well-oiled machine. A close-knit family. They used to spend every night together— if it wasn't them working to plan for another show, it was just them up late watching a movie or laughing about something that had happened that day. Once upon a time, things had worked— things had been nice. After that night in Vegas, everything had derailed, bit by slow bit. Jonathan had been dragged away into prison, Cameron had become more and more undone with each passing day, disappearing for longer and longer stretches of time in the effort to try and figure out what to do to help him get out.

Now Jonathan was missing, and Cameron had legally died for well over five minutes. His outlook unsure.

Their future as a team has already been a question mark.

Now they were just tacking on more and more.

Seven o'clock was rolling around. Dina was still holding to Cameron's hand, but now she was reaching out, delicately fixing Cameron's hair the way she used to do during every commercial break of their specials. He'd never reacted to her, then, either. But now, his lack of response was a knife to her heart. Gunter was pacing— he'd been pacing for half an hour. Jordan was still sitting in the windowsill; he hadn't moved all day. It was his own personal banishment, almost. His stare was heavy and miserable. He was staring at the rain that was battering against the glass…most likely so he wouldn't have to turn and see Cameron.

Gunter was looking over at Jordan every so often, each time his stare filling with clear and defined rage. When he broke the silence, his voice was clenched tight with it. It was a miracle he was keeping himself composed. "Has Kay said anything?" he demanded. Dina just shook her head, still trying to stay engrossed with the task of fixing Cameron's hair. If she focused on that enough, it made everything else easier. And his hair was plenty a mess to figure out. Gunter scowled, shaking his head as he went back to pacing. "What in the world is she doing!? Does she think we're alright with just sitting here, twiddling our thumbs!?"

"I'm sure she's doing all she can," Dina murmured. "We can't expect her to drop everything and—"

"We're not asking her to drop everything!" he snapped, and she pursed her lips once she was interrupted. Jordan shifted uneasily, tucking tighter to himself as he leaned to put his forehead against the glass. "We're asking her to tell us what's happening! The very second that Cameron saw that news segment on the television, we've thrown our lot in with them! We've done everything— investigations, elaborate tricks— I think at this point we're entitled to a little more explanation!" He shook his head. "What have we gotten in return for helping them?" he demanded. Dina kept her eyes fixated on Cameron, though she couldn't ignore the fact that her heart grew to be about ten times heavier. "Just a lot of free work and help!"

"You don't believe that," Dina argued softly.

"You don't think I do!?" he demanded. "We've helped them for months! And Jonathan is still in prison! And Kay had to practically _beg_ for them to help find Cameron in the first place— they didn't want to _waste the man power_!" He snorted in derision, shaking his head again as he turned and started for the other wall again. "And how do you think all of this is going to go over!? Once they track Jonathan down, they'll shove him right back into prison, no questions asked— and it'll be a miracle if they even want to keep helping him after this stunt! Cameron will be shoved off, too, after he helped the mystery woman!" He was absolutely livid. "They'll drop all of us without a second thought— that's what they're doing right now!"

"Kay would never let that happen," Dina argued, but the response was hollow.

Gunter threw Jordan an angered scowl. "This might have been different if we'd known sooner," he spat. "We could have done something to stop all this."

Jordan closed his eyes. His voice was defeated when he replied. "He asked me not to tell, Gunter." He just repeated what he'd been saying this entire time. "There's nothing else I could have done."

He scoffed, practically seething. "And you were stupid enough to listen to him," he snapped. Before Jordan could try and collect himself enough for a proper response, he was plowing on. He spoke fast, and without thinking. That much was clear when he demanded scathingly: "What are you going to do if he wakes up and isn't the same?" Jordan did turn at this, and his eyes flickered down to Cameron. The look on his face was answer enough already, and Dina flared as she shot Gunter a warning look. But it was useless. "What are you going to do if he wakes up and can't even tie his own shoes!? You'll be singing a different song, then, I'd wager."

"Gunter," Dina said sharply. "Don't—"

"It's not my fault he called and asked me not to tell anyone else!" Jordan cried, his shoulders tightening. "I _wanted_ to tell you, but—"

"But you wanted to impress him more!" Gunter completed scornfully. "You _never_ use your head! You always just do what's easiest for you, you don't—"

"I did what was best for Cameron and Jonathan!" Jordan shouted. He was standing up from the windowsill, now. "You're right, the FBI _hasn't_ been helping with Jonathan's case— if I kept quiet, there was a chance that Cameron could get him out! And now you're going to stand there and yell at me like that isn't something you would have wanted—"'

"That's right! You certainly did what was best for them!" he crowed mockingly. Jordan snapped his mouth closed, locking his jaw backwards. Gunter jabbed a finger down at Cameron in the hospital bed. "Is this what's best for him!?" he demanded. Jordan had to look away. "Is this a step up from where we were!? _You_ helped do this— _you_! This is _your_ fault, because you knew this was going on and you just didn't tell us! So by all means, go on and say that you had everything under control— everything figured out! You can keep trying to pretend like your hands are clean, but Dina and I know exactly what you did! Everyone does! You lied to us! And you kept what was happening with Cameron a secret so we couldn't do anything for him! And you were part of the reason he suffocated on the other side of that door! _That's_ the truth!"

His eyes were bright with undisguised anger. By the time he was finished yelling, he was nearly out of breath. He let his arm drop down limp to his side, and he glared at Jordan with enough fire to burn him out on the spot. Jordan's expression was drawn and empty with misery; when Gunter was finished, he said absolutely nothing. His eyes went briefly to Cameron. Flashing bright with pain, they went next over to Dina. But she was silent. She only held his gaze for a brief moment, before she looked away again.

However, no sooner did she start to turn aside, did her eyes catch on something else. Some _one_ else, standing in the doorway. Immediately, her stomach dropped, and her face fell right along with it. Kay stood in the entryway of the room, her expression pinched and heavy. Her hands were clenched tightly in front of her. Dina had no idea how long she had been standing there but judging by the look that was on her face, it had been long enough. Gunter turned a half a second after Dina did, and he sobered as well, once he saw her standing there.

Silence was heavy and awkward in the air. Kay trained her eyes on the floor, but she only hesitated a couple of moments before she walked inside. Her footsteps seemed to echo. "I'm…sorry I didn't come sooner, I was trying to—"

"Have you found Jonathan?" Gunter demanded. Again, Dina glared at him.

Kay blinked. The look on her face was hard to read, and she stared straight ahead, like she was trying to see through the wall. When she eventually spoke, it wasn't to offer an answer. Her voice was hollow, and she barely let it get out much in the first place. "I was taken off the case," she murmured. Immediately, the other three stiffened. Their eyes widened, and it looked like Gunter was already opening his mouth to yell something out. She went on quickly before he could get the chance. "I tried to reason with them. But…this is all my fault. It's my fault Cameron was there in the first place to help with the heist. It was my persuading that got Jonathan out of prison and now he's on the run. I was told…I'm too involved with everything going on. They told me they won't need my services going forward."

"That's ridiculous!" Dina blustered. "Cameron didn't even help MW, he stole the diamond himself!"

"They don't care," Kay exhaled. "They still don't want me involved going forward. Too much has happened. I tried to fight the decision, but it was already decided."

"So…so we can't be involved, either?" Jordan demanded. Kay was their link to the FBI— if she was cut off, wasn't it the same for them? "We can't help find Jonathan? _Cameron_ can't help find Jonathan?" Kay only pressed her lips together tightly. The answer was plain on her face. He moved to sit with his back against the window, letting his legs dangle over the side of the ledge. "Cameron is the best person _to_ find him! Without Cameron, you might as well be wandering around with a blindfold on!"

For once, Gunter wasn't arguing. "I can't believe this," he growled, shaking his head and turning away like he didn't even have the patience to look at her. "This is stupid, is what this is! This entire thing is stupid! What do they think is going to happen!? They're throwing away the only—"

"Gunter, I agree with you," Kay tried to interject. "I _agree_ , I _told_ them that they were making a mistake, but it's just—"

"But there's nothing you can do," he spat, the growl filled with derision. "Seems like recently, when it comes to us, there's a _whole lot that you can't do_."

Her own voice hardened. "If you would just _listen to me_ instead of—"

"No, Kay!" he yelled. "Oddly enough, I'm not in the mood to listen to you! To your excuses! Cameron never gave you _any_ excuses, for _anything_! So how come you have the nerve to—"

"Cameron?"

The second Dina spoke, not to them, but down to the hospital bed, Kay and Gunter shut up at once. They turned at the same time, to follow her gaze which was now stricken with emotion. Jordan hopped off the windowsill, anxiously skittering forward so he could see him too. Sure enough, he was rousing, bit by slow bit. His forehead creased over in fuzzy pain as he pried his eyes open; once he started to manage it, Dina felt a tear in her chest as she realized that there was a certain light to them that hadn't been there yet. However tiny it was, it was a sense of clarity. A sense of his old self, she hadn't realized she had so achingly missed until right this moment.

A tiny mumble escaped him again, still unable to be deciphered thanks to its volume and the oxygen mask that was still on his face. Dina was holding fast to his hand— that hadn't changed, either. And sure enough, when he started to wake up, the first thing he felt must have been the IVs, because he started to try and move his arm away from it. The habit was well-anticipated by now, and Dina only held tighter to him, leaning over and trying to get his attention. "Cameron, are you awake?" He closed his eyes in a tiny cringe at the voice, but she relaxed as she saw him work to get them back open again. "Cameron? Darling, you're in the hospital. Can you hear me? Can you look at me?"

He blinked groggily, and dragged his head over to the side, to look in the direction of her voice. He was coming back to himself, and it was slow going, but he was trying all the same. His gaze eventually found hers and locked, and she softened when she saw warm recognition leak into it. Her chest grew hot with mingled relief and happiness. However, her voice still tried to retain a reproachful edge. "You terrified us, Cameron," she chastised. "Your heart stopped— we thought you were dead. We thought we lost you."

Cameron was coming back around; however, he was still muddled and bleary. But once Dina was through, and just took to staring at him with a heavy expression, he did something very distinctly _himself_. He lifted the edges of his mouth upwards into a grin, and he flashed her a smile that was nothing but cheeky. His eyes closed tiredly when he did, but the grin stayed put. Dina scoffed, her own expression unable to resist breaking out into a beam. Tears were bright in her eyes when she reached out and shoved his arm lightly. "Don't you dare!" she snapped, and Cameron just grinned wider. "Don't you _dare_ smile, Cameron Black! You're horrible— you're absolutely _horrible_!"

Kay's expression was soft, and both Gunter's and Jordan's were overwhelmed with relief. Almost fully aware now, Cameron turned his head and realized for the first time that Dina wasn't the only one there. He looked between each person there and looked as though he was almost through collecting himself. His blue eyes went from Jordan, to Gunter, and they stopped on Kay. They faltered on her for some reason, and the look on his face wasn't distinguishable at all. She found herself wilting at the reaction. Though at the last second, she remembered herself and gave him a smile. "I'm glad you're okay, Cameron," she offered, her voice much quieter than normal.

Cameron kept staring at her in that odd way. Her chest grew tighter and tighter the longer she held the gaze and was unable to figure it out. It looked like something was wrong. Like a puzzle piece wasn't fitting, but Cameron couldn't figure out why because it looked like the sides were supposed to match up. The others were watching intently now, having picked up on the subtle change. Nobody spoke— they were leaving room for Cameron to do this himself, and he did so eventually, after what felt like ten years of silence.

When he did speak, it didn't matter that he was wearing the mask over his mouth, or that it wasn't much more than a small croak. Because the very second he said it, Kay's heart was leaping up to lodge in her throat and choke her. The instant the words passed his lips, she was freezing and locking into place, complete shock slapping her across the face at the sincerity she could hear in his tone. "Who are you?" And it was then that she could recognize the confused look on his face as the look someone would wear if they were meeting someone. For the very first time.

She said nothing; she didn't even blink. Jordan weakened at once, his knees nearly buckling; he reached out to catch himself on the hospital bed's railing and steady himself. Dina was still holding Cameron's hand, and with the question, she squeezed even tighter. Gunter's expression was clouding with a storm of emotions much too thick to piece apart entirely. There was rage, and sorrow, and betrayal, and remorse, and guilt, and—

"Stop! Wait, _stop_ — I was joking!" Cameron squeaked, his eyes flying wide at the sharp and sudden reactions. Kay jerked up in a straighten, not realizing how much her expression had betrayed her until she realized she'd been staring at him in something way too close to horror. He looked more than shocked at her response. And his nervous smile only grew faster when she immediately started to scowl. "I'm sorry, I just— you looked so— _ouch_!" He'd started to try and shift as if to pull himself up in bed more – he'd shifted downward in his sleep – when the simple motion caused pain to lance straight up his side. He ended in a harsh yell, closing his eyes tightly and hissing as he flattened himself back against the mattress. "Why—?"

" _I'm going to_ punch _you!_ " Gunter practically roared, and Cameron's eyes snapped open with a certain kind of alarm that made it seem like he wasn't entirely sure the threat was empty. Nobody else was, either, though. "You complete _moron_ , _why would you— no, why would you do_ any of this _!?_ " Kay started to try and interject and say something. When she realized that Cameron's expression had receded into a tiny grin. His expression was nothing but fond, and looking at Gunter, Kay realized that underneath the initial façade of anger, there was just sheer relief. " _You're the stupidest person I've ever met on this planet, Cameron Black. You're annoying, and you're irritating, you're not a good driver Cameron because you're always looking at Waze because you don't know where anything is no matter where you are or how long you've been there, and don't even get me_ started _on the fact you can't cook to save your life, because_ I remember _the time you broke the microwave trying to make Spaghetti-O's Cameron, I know you want everyone else to forget about it, but here I am, making sure that's—"_

"Excuse me!" That same young girl from the night before was rushing in, still in the same uniform, and still wearing that awkward and alarmed look on her face. When everyone turned to look at her, she stumbled a little bit, and only seemed to weaken more. Her hands clasped in front of her, and she seemed ten seconds away from just turning right around and walking away without breaking stride. But she steeled herself and addressed Gunter anxiously. "Sir, I'm afraid I can't have you yelling, there are other patients that are trying—"

She broke off abruptly as her eyes caught on Cameron. She did a double-take as she turned, completely forgetting the reason she'd come in in the first place. "You're awake!" she squealed, and Cameron seemed confused. Kay's stomach clenched as she saw his eyes flicker first to the clock, then to the whiteboard on the wall opposite his bed. He zeroed in on the first two lines that were written in bright purple dry erase marker. The first being 'Welcome to the ICU!' with two little smiley faces to back up the greeting, and the second being the date. And immediately, shock was there to flare across his expression. The technician was oblivious to it, apparently, because all she said next was an odd plea of: "Can I take your vitals?"

Which was probably something they were supposed to do in the first place, but for some reason was now coming off more like she'd actually said, 'Can I have your autograph?'

Silence swallowed the space behind this request. Kay began to sober the more Cameron's confusion began to grow. He was looking from the whiteboard to everyone else, and then he looked down at himself, apparently fully aware of it all now. He reached up and took the mask off his face, to which the technician wilted and tried to object to. But he wasn't listening. "What happened?" he rasped. The more he woke up, the more rushed back to him and added to his alarm. "T— the vault, I was…the mystery woman— did you get her?" The group only looked at him sadly, which was answer enough. But he still kept on despite it. "I didn't give her the diamond, I didn't help her— but you got her, didn't you? _Didn't you_?" He looked around to each person, and it was then that twenty times as much alarm managed to cram itself into his gaze. " _Where's Jonathan_?"

Kay turned to the technician. "Can you give us a moment? Please."

The young employee stared awkwardly for a second, before she remembered herself and inhaled sharply. "Oh— yes, yeah, I can…yes, I'll give you a moment. Um— I'll be back…in like, an hour, because I really do need to take his vitals. But. Yes, I can…take everyone else's vitals first, and then— come back, yup. Okay." They were all more than ready for her to turn and leave, and Gunter made a point to shut the door behind her once she finally did. He specifically seemed to have less patience for her. Though he wasn't really known as a tolerable person to begin with.

When they all steeled themselves and looked back at Cameron, everything was still building. Before anyone could decide to be the bravest one there and start the dialogue, he was demanding again: " _What happened_?"

"You should put that mask back on, Cameron, you don't know—"

"Dina." His voice was flat. She stopped at once and bit the fret back.

Kay decided she was the best one here to take the baton. But she also knew that it would be more than difficult. She took in a slow breath, put on the armor for what she knew was waiting for her, and she began. "MW got away." Already, this got Cameron stiffening, and a mixed look of anger and disappointment to cloud his stare. He tried to interrupt her, but she purposefully sped on. "I caught her outside and got her face on the security camera. But when she told me that you were still in the vault, Cameron…I couldn't possibly have stayed there with her. I had no choice but to leave to try and help." He blinked rapidly, his forehead creasing as he closed his mouth. "She told me Jonathan had no idea it was you; I knew he'd get you out last, and I thought if I ran right then, I might make it…but I didn't." Her voice was saturated with regret. "It was my fault she got away. And I'm sorry about that. And…I'm sorry I didn't make it back to you in time, too."

Cameron just stared at her warily. Waiting.

"Obviously…you turned all the valves, but you lost consciousness before you could get the door open. We…thought it was over. But Jonathan wasn't about to give up— he was hitting the door and slamming against it, trying to dislodge you, and I think eventually it must have worked, because you fell, and the wheel spun the rest of the way." Cameron looked around the room again, like he was expecting Jonathan to be there once he looked twice. Like this time, he'd just be standing in the corner with a smile. But he still came up with nothing. "You had gone without oxygen for…way too long. We had to start CPR, just to try and bring you back. Thankfully the ambulance came at the very last second, and they were able to bring you back." She had to clear her throat. She spoke brisker when she went on. "You've been here ever since. Sleeping."

Still, he was waiting. This time she waited as well, for what she knew was going to come. "And…Jonathan?" he pressed.

She looked at the floor. Cameron turned to the others to see similar reactions. "He…was the first to run in to you and start compressions," Kay began slowly, just murmuring now. Cameron looked back, his expression clouding. "He was inconsolable. Panicked…he wasn't paying attention to anything else. Eventually he got too tired, and Gunter took over. From there, the paramedics came in, and they were giving you shocks, and…nobody was really thinking about anything _other_ than you, so…" Cameron's eyebrows began to pull together. She closed her eyes to make delivering the news easier. "By the time you were resuscitated, he was gone. We turned around and he was nowhere to be found."

The words were hollow, and they fell like rocks.

Cameron's confusion was wiped completely. He straightened a little bit, and his eyes widened. Kay's stomach twisted as a smile started to come over his face. "He… _right_ ," he laughed, looking at her like she'd just informed her watermelons actually made very good wheels for a car. She only stared at him. He laughed again. "Right, he…just…where would he _go_?" Again, he left a gap for her to wave the joke away. Uncertainty began to leak back into his gaze bit by bit. His smile faded. His voice was quieter when he repeated: "Where would he go? Why would he…why would he l _eave_? I don't…"

"We think…he went after MW," Kay explained. Cameron jerked, like she'd hit him. "He left before you were revived. Minutes were dragging by, nothing was happening, we all thought that you…" She shook her head. "We all thought you were dead, Cameron. Jonathan thought you died." Cameron's eyes widened even more. "And he must still think that…because we couldn't find him. He was just gone. We think he stole a car and got out of the city…he's going after her. He thinks she's responsible for you dying. Or…that's what we assume at the moment."

He was completely shocked, not able to get anything out at first. When he did, it was just a stutter. "Well— then— well then we just have to find him!" he blustered. "That's all you have to do, right? Find him and tell him I'm okay, why haven't you done that yet?" The way he asked this made it sound like he was asking a mom why she hadn't found her unruly son in the aisles of Toys R Us yet. Like it was that easy, even though it was the opposite. After working for so long with her on cases, he should have realized this. But right now he wasn't exactly pausing for rational thought.

Kay let out a slow breath. "The FBI is _trying_ — they're putting as many people as they can on it, but…I was taken off the case."

" _What!?_ "

"It's my fault this happened in the first place. I was dismissed, for now."

"That's stupid!" Cameron snapped. "You didn't do anything, you— so wait, am I dismissed, too!?" At the look on her face, which already had the answer there for him to see, he became even more distressed. "I'm the person most capable of finding him! _I'm_ who he needs to hear from, I'm—"

"Cameron, you helped MW with the heist," Kay got out with difficulty. "They're not going to—"

"I didn't have a choice!" he interrupted. "And I was trying to help Johnny, I can't— this isn't even—" His words were cutting off into flinches; each time, he took in a deep breath that made him cringe even more and tried to go on regardless. But this time the pain must have been too great. He flattened back against the hospital bed, his face creasing over in absolute agony as pain ripped up his side. He had to clamp his teeth to keep from screaming out. Dina stiffened with concern, and her eyes went to the call button for the nurse. But he was trying to breathe through it; the pain must have been blinding— he usually could take quite a lot of it without even a blink.

"Cameron, dear, calm down," Dina pleaded. "You're very hurt."

"M'fine," he exhaled quickly. He narrowed his eyes against it and kept his teeth gritted. Firmly, he shook his head. "I need to get out of here. I need to find Johnny. I don't need to be in here, I feel fine."

"You have two broken ribs," Jordan objected. Gunter shot him a glare that he tried to ignore as best he could. "So either our definitions of 'fine' are really different, or you're lying and you're just going to end up hurting yourself more."

"The FBI will find him, Cameron," Kay reassured. "Everything will be sorted out."

Cameron didn't seem all that enthused with the promise. "I'm not staying here," he repeated, louder this time. "I'm _not_ staying here, I'm going to find my brother."

"Cameron, your ribs—" Dina tried.

But he cut her off. "So they can give me a brace or something! You can't do anything for broken ribs anyway, so why should I have to stay here?" He shook his head fast, and grimaced when the room spun because of it. "Jonathan's already doing something completely stupid by running in the first place, I have to stop him before he does something even worse. He was framed for her first murder, he can't actually _pull off her second one_ , that'd really _mess up_ my weekend plans." He started to push himself up, flinching deeply but waving Dina off when she tried to reach out. "Just hand me my clothes, help me up— I just need a little help getting—"

"Cameron, don't be ridiculous…or at least try to be _less_ ridiculous," Dina begged.

"You won't solve anything hobbling around New York!" Gunter interjected.

"Am I solving anything just laying here?" Cameron demanded. "You should have woken me up sooner, I can't believe you let me sleep this long in the first place— who knows what he could have— what in the world is all of this?" he demanded, looking at his arm at the IV he was hooked to. "Do I need this? What is this? I probably don't need this—"

"Cameron!" He jumped a little at Kay's snap. Her expression was hard as she looked at him. "Think logically for a second. He's one person. With an entire team of specially-trained people out looking for him. In a stolen car, that can't get very far. They've been working on finding him ever since he ran off, and they're bound to be close to the answer of where he is. If they're not already closing in right now! He'll be found by morning, I can feel it. Just give it a little longer. Jordan's right: you could hurt yourself more, leaving right now. Just stay here for a little longer." Gentler, she added: "Your heart stopped, Cameron. We just want to make sure you're okay."

He looked at her, clearly torn. His eyes were just a little bit narrowed, his jaw setting backwards as he frowned. Eventually, he shook his head a fraction. "They won't find him," he objected. "Not Jonathan. There's not a chance." He sounded absolutely sure— there was no doubt in his voice whatsoever. And Kay found, holding his stare, that she agreed. They'd brought him in in the first place for the criminals that were too good for them. For when they were out of their depth. And Kay had brought Jonathan out of prison in the first place because he was the only other master of deception she knew.

They couldn't find Jonathan without Cameron. They just couldn't.

All the same, she stuck to her guns. "Just a little bit longer."

He looked at her, still with that same reluctance.

Maybe it was the way she was looking at him, or maybe it was just the fact he truly was in a significant amount of pain, still.

But slowly, he caved, and settled back into the bed.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

' _Rockin' around the Christmas tree, at the Christmas party hop! Mistletoe hung where you can see, every couple tries to—'_

"Stoooooop!"

 _It was harder to tell what was louder: the pleasant music, Cameron's scream of desperate anger, the birds' screeching, or Jonathan's laughter. For nearly seven minutes now, this had been going on. And with every passing minute, it was just getting funnier. Cameron had been running around the entire room, trying to get ahold of their doves and get them back in their cage. Of course, the birds wanted anything_ but _that, so the chase had been going on for quite some time. The second that Cameron managed to get close enough to grab them, they would either shoot off in the other direction, or just turn around and peck at him hard enough to get him to duck away._

 _There were seven birds in total. Cameron had managed to corral a whopping zero._

" _Get—_ stop _, get over here! Oh my God!" Cameron cried, and Jonathan doubled over as his brother stooped down, reaching out for the nearest dove and tripping over his own feet once it flew away. He hit the ground with a thud and a squeak. And at his brother's continuing laughter, he shoved himself up, throwing him a scowl. "You could help me, you know!" he yelled. Jonathan straightened with a smirk, making a show of pulling his legs up to his chest and just sitting back in his chair more comfortably. Cameron soured more. "If you were helping me, this would have been fixed two hours ago!"_

" _You've only been doing it for five minutes," Jonathan pointed out. "And it's funny."_

" _Well, I'm glad you're entertained," Cameron hissed. He got himself the rest of the way up. He turned and looked at the escaped birds with enough hatred to cook them. One was perched on the windowsill, another was currently bouncing on the couch. Another one was simply standing no less than two feet away, just staring at him. Silently daring him to try again. Cameron hung his head and sighed. "I can't believe this, this is so stupid," he whined. "I_ hate _birds, and they're_ so _tacky,_ why _did Dad get them, and_ why _did he leave two minutes before they all decided to escape?"_

" _Escape?" Jonathan repeated. He cracked a grin. "You were feeding them and you left the door wide open, Cam."_

" _I was_ trusting _them!" Cameron cried, exasperated. "That's what I was told to do— make friends with them even though they're_ literally the worst creatures ever put on planet Earth!" _He ended in a frustrated yell. And, just because he was angry, he jumped out and flailed his arms in the air, scaring the bird closest to them and making it flap away in a panic. He glared after it, blowing his cheeks out in pure anger as he sat back into his heels._

 _Jonathan watched blandly as the bird rushed away, raising his eyebrows. More than unimpressed. "That right there," he mused, pointing after it. "That's_ really _gonna help make friends with it. It's gonna remember that."_

" _I_ hope _it remembers!" Cam yelled, stomping again and making the same bird fly away to the other side of the room entirely. It ended up crouching awkwardly down on top of the door that was ajar, hunching its wings as if to shield himself from him. It let out an enraged squawk, which Cameron looked tempted to return wholeheartedly. "I hope it has a nightmare about me tonight," he growled, throwing an 'I've-Got-My-Eye-On-You' gesture in its direction._

" _Just because you're going to have a nightmare about it, doesn't mean it'll be vice versa," Jonathan pointed out. He got up from the chair and walked over to stand by his twin, swinging his arms as he did. "They're birds, Cameron, not demons, you don't have to be scared of them."_

" _I'm_ not _scared of them!" Cameron yelled immediately._

 _As soon as he yelled this, one of the other birds swooped down at him, chattering loudly. Cameron flinched into a crouch, throwing his arms over his head with a yelp. Jonathan snickered, and the glare that Cameron threw him only made him laugh more. He pointed towards the dove at it flew away. "You just screamed because of Cupcake."_

" _That one isn't Cupcake!" he yelled, beet red as he jerked back up to stand. He jabbed a finger at another bird that was currently tearing up a newspaper in the corner. "_ That's _Cupcake, and I_ know _that because she was the first one that bit me and she's bitten me every day since!"_

 _Jonathan blinked and looked in the direction of his twin's gesture. "Aw, yeah." His eyes softened and he smiled. "Cupcake's my favorite," he announced._

"Shut up _," Cameron spat, ignoring Jonathan's resounding snicker. His eyes narrowed and he hesitated for a couple seconds. Before he dashed out and made a wild grab for the nearest dove, which was hopping around on the coffee table. It flew off right before he could close his fingers around it, and Cameron ended up falling again. This time when he hit the ground, he was too disheartened to get back up. He fell down and stayed down, only rolling on his back so he could stare in frustration up at the ceiling. Quietly, he declared: "I give up. I'm done."_

 _Jonathan traipsed over to his brother and settled down on the ground too. He laid down next to him and sighed as he rested his arms over his stomach. "With?"_

" _With everything. The whole enchilada. You're gonna have to go on without me."_

" _Not a fan of that," Jonathan mused. "Sounds like a lot of work."_

" _Well,_ look _!" Cameron threw out his hands, and Jonathan edged away with a snort when he saw that blood was still coming down one of his fingers from a particularly nasty bite. "I'm bleeding to death," he snapped. "I have like six more minutes of life, at the_ most _. Cupcake killed me." He let his arm flop back down to the ground. "You'll have to avenge me. Really smack her in the face, or something. At the very least don't give her any more treats."_

" _I'll keep it in mind," he replied. "But I already told you, I love Cupcake unconditionally. Probably more than I love you."_

' _Rockin' around the Christmas Tree have a happy holiday. Everyone's dancin' merrily, in the new old-fashioned way!'_

" _I hate birds," Cameron repeated, more tired this time. When Jonathan looked over at him, he could see the wistful expression on his face. Almost pained. He continued softly. "I want a dog for Christmas. Or even a cat…I've always wanted either of them." He sighed. "But…it'd get in the way of touring. I guess. And practicing. That's…more important." Jonathan's face fell. Cameron did the opposite as he grinned. "Maybe we can get one anyway. Maybe Dad will change his mind. We're older now, it's not like we're not responsible. We could have a dog. Or a cat. Either one."_

" _I dunno," Jonathan found himself mumbling. "I don't think Dad's willing to make a bunch of changes. Or if he's even able to."_

" _You don't know that," Cameron objected. Jonathan sighed and redirected his stare back up at the roof. He did know that. And that reply was almost ready to come out, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to fight his brother. He'd learned over the years. "He could surprise us. He could surprise_ you _. And wouldn't it be great? To come downstairs and see a puppy? We could train it— it could totally be a part of the act with us. Maybe I can try asking. Again."_

 _Jonathan closed his eyes briefly. He shook his head just the tiniest bit. "Cam…" He could feel his brother looking over at him; he didn't even have to see. He hesitated, allowing himself another pause. But he couldn't hold it back. "You're giving him too much credit," he murmured. And now he could feel his disappointment. "You don't actually think he'd change his mind, do you?"_

 _The response was immediate, like it was already prepared. "Of course I do." And there was no hesitation in his voice. "You can't…assume the worst about someone. Not if they're family. You always have to give them a chance, no matter what. Even if they've made mistakes." Jonathan made the conscious choice to hold his tongue. Ever since their father had hit Cameron six months ago, it was a touchier subject than normal. Every time their father moved a little too fast and Cameron would flinch away, or every time that his voice raised just the tiniest bit and Cameron immediately looked down at the floor, Jonathan had practically tasted his anger like vomit. He wasn't in the mood for allowances— not anymore. But here Cameron was, saying this himself, and with a smile on his face. Cam must have picked up on this, because he prompted after a second: "Isn't that right?"_

"… _I don't know," he managed stiffly._

 _Cameron paused. He searched his brother's face, and he saw that resentment. He looked like he wanted to say more. But eventually he melted, and his smile turned gentler. Softly, he declared: "I wouldn't give up on you, either, you know." Jonathan turned back, a little surprised. Cameron just smiled wider. "I'd never give up on you. Ever. Just…like, in general. In case you were wondering."_

 _At first Jonathan did nothing. But he couldn't keep the smile from growing across his face. His reply was instinctual. "I wouldn't give up on you, either." It was an entirely different situation, when it came to the two of them, he knew. But still. It was true, at least. For them, it was true. They couldn't give up on each other, because each other was all they had. And that knowledge was clear, even without either of them pointing it out aloud. They just knew._

 _And for a second, they just laid there and smiled, listening to the radio, which had changed to another song a while ago. 'Let's take that road before us and sing a chorus or two…c'mon, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ridge together with you!' Jonathan was going to say something else— to offer that he go with Cameron to ask if a pet was something they could have, because he'd be lying if he said that the thought of a dog didn't make him smile, too. But before he could, there was a rush of feathers and squawking, and before either of them knew it, one of the birds was smacking straight down into Cameron's stomach._

 _He screeched in surprise and flailed his arms out to smack it off. Apparently, it was not a fan of this decision, because it let out an angry scream and flew at Cameron's face, looking pretty bent on ripping it off. This only made Cameron screech even louder, and he started rolling to the side, like that was an effective tactic against an enraged bird. Immediately Jonathan broke down in a fit of laughter again, his sides splitting as he covered his face with his hands. Somehow, he was able to laugh even harder when he heard Cameron roll right into the couch and proceed to yell a rather obscene and personal insult at Cupcake._

'Later on, we'll conspire. As we dream by the fire! To face unafraid, the plans that we've made! Walkin' in a winter wonderland!'

The place was crowded. Families and couples and individuals alike were milling everywhere, flitting this way and that way in a chaotic mess. Music played overhead to match the celebration, able to be heard no matter where you wandered. Bright strings of lights and gleaming decorations were lighting up the night. Little Christmas trees were lining the walkways, and so were thousands of crowded little booths. Booths that were selling little trinkets, some selling ornaments, some with hot chocolate and cookies and some with games for the little kids to play. It was difficult just as to what exactly each one was— each one was so packed you was lucky to get a glimpse of their sign. You were lucky to get anywhere at all…between the couples holding hands and the kids running around either intent on seeing Santa or Rudolph.

The Christmas festival was a little early, calendar-wise.

But it was absolutely perfect for Jonathan.

He was wearing a hat that he'd found in the backseat of that girl's car— it was for some college he'd never heard of before. Which was a moot point; he was just glad it fit him and hid his hair. It was a pretty pathetic excuse for a disguise, and he knew that he would need a much better one if he wanted to stay under the radar. But for right now, it was darker, and this was place was bursting with far too much activity for him to be picked out easily if he kept his head down. It would have to do. He couldn't get anywhere at all if he didn't have any money. Getting some was step one.

'Oooor step one can be just _leaving_? I think that's a pretty valid step one, too. Just my humble opinion.'

Jonathan ignored it. He kept walking, systematically looking this way and that as he did, watching out for anyone at all that could be looking at him. Whether it be someone in law enforcement, or someone managing to recognize him in general, he couldn't risk either. He felt like he was walking with a bright spotlight shining straight down on him, demanding that everyone in a mile radius turn their head. Even if so far, he hadn't even been glanced at once.

Everyone was too engrossed in themselves to notice anything else.

Which was part of the reason why it was so perfect.

Jonathan slunk through the crowd, stepping carefully around each person so that despite the close proximity, he didn't even brush against them. As he went, he expertly swiped as much as he could, from as many people as he could. He was a master pick-pocketer. He'd taught Cameron all he knew, in fact. His brother was always good at it, after the few awkward tries it took to get the talent under his fingers. _He_ never got caught either— he could slip a watch off a man's hand or a necklace off a woman's neck as he was talking to them and get out clean. And Jonathan was even better. Along with his superior skills in figuring out puzzles, that was another thing Cameron used to very pointedly announce, simply because it was so plainly true. If anyone doubted it before, all they needed to do was look at this, because it was all the evidence that was needed.

As fathers were looking down at their children and very patiently explaining that they _couldn't_ buy them another stuffed animal because they'd already bought them _two_ , Jonathan walked behind them and slipped their wallet out of their pocket. In the same fluid, seconds-long motion, he would open it just enough to take out any bills inside, and then delicately slide it back into place. From there he would walk away, shoving both hands into his pockets and storing away the stolen funds without even checking to see how much it was. He would repeat this over and over, hardly even breaking stride.

He would pretend to be looking at something at a booth, never getting closer than the very fringe of the crowd, and he would slip a hand into a long-hanging purse, or a loose jacket. He'd swipe anything he could, because what he had now was nothing. It was only thanks to the party and the hustle and bustle that this was a fairly easy task. He knew he couldn't push it, though. He hadn't seen any type of security yet, but he would be stupid to think a huge thing like this would be completely unsupervised. All it took was one person to realize they were robbed. They would go and tell someone, and then high alert would be put up. And who knew whether or not Jonathan's name had already made it out as an 'escaped prisoner' yet. Who knew if the police force here was already looking out for him? Who would immediately rush out and look at the mention of criminal activity?

So he moved fast and gathered as much as he could. He walked the entire length of the festival, turned around and made his way back, taking everything he could along the way and walking on opposite sides each time, to try and not rouse suspicion of any booth operators that could have noticed him before. He kept his head down and weaved between people to stay out of focus. He saw a security guard wearing reindeer antlers by a peppermint stand, but they didn't even look in his direction.

He just kept walking and tried to keep himself level. Making his head ducked but his expression nonchalant. He tried to focus on what he needed to do. All his plans of getting out of prison required money. If he got this, then his next movements going forward would be much easier, and clearer. He just needed money. In most of his plans, he'd anticipated being able to rely on Cam—

 _The aftermath of Christmas is always a weird feeling. The day seems to go on forever, because there's nothing left to do once you tear through your presents. All year, you'd been looking forward to sitting down and ripping through the wrapping paper, so now that it was over…so what else was there? That was what they were stuck in, now. Or…it was they probably would have been stuck in, if they hadn't had to leave for their New Year's show in only an hour. Their aftermath was a little different, because of that. Much smaller. But it was still there._

 _Jonathan had gotten more books, because he was always going through them, and notebooks too, for writing. Cameron got an assortment of things that their father had promised he would explain later, and how they were important for the new trick he was going to have to learn. Jonathan had looked at him with a tiny frown when the explanation had been given, but Cameron was all smiles and bright eyes. He'd looked ecstatic, and not at all disappointed. Which figured._

 _He still looked that way now, the two twins sitting together in this familiar yet shortened aftermath. They'd have to leave soon, and their dad was rushing around because of it. Surely in a couple minutes, he'd be calling down to them to get up and do the same. But for right now, they were going unnoticed. Something Jonathan was largely too familiar with, but this time, was more than okay with as well. He was sitting beside Cameron, the both of their backs up against the wall. Cameron was grinning, looking at the meager offerings of trash still remaining after they'd gone through their boxes. Jonathan looked at him questioningly. Wondering why he was so happy. Which he usually found himself doing, when it came to his brother._

 _It was like Cameron knew what he was wondering. The feat wasn't uncommon. It was strange if they_ didn't _know what the other was feeling or thinking. By this point, it was instinctual. Because when Jonathan glanced at him, he just smiled a little wider. "No puppy," he announced pleasantly. "Not this year."_

 _Jonathan blinked. He looked back at the scraps of wrapping paper and couldn't help but declaring: "I told you so." Cameron's eyes flickered over to him. Jonathan shrugged. "I told you Dad wouldn't change his mind. I told you it wasn't going to happen, no matter_ how _we asked. Or how often."_

" _Yeah. Not this year," Cameron agreed. Still, with no trace of bitterness in his voice._

 _He made a face. "Why do you do that?"_

 _Cameron was fidgeting with his cards, like he always did. Shuffling them and spinning them without even looking. "Do what?" he chirped._

" _Stay…happy like that," Jonathan pressed. "It's…weird. It's…probably not_ good _." The skepticism was clear on Cameron's face. "You should be disappointed— you've been asking for a dog for ages. You're responsible, you would take care of it, nobody's allergic, you could probably train it to be in a show somehow…there's literally_ no _reason you can't have a dog." Jonathan was angry_ for _him, it seemed. Or at least, that's how it came out sounding like. "So why aren't you upset with Dad for disappointing you_ again _? It happens all the time, and each time it's like you don't even care."_

" _I care," he objected._

" _Then_ why _aren't you angry?" Jonathan blustered._

 _Cameron was eyeing him like he was demanding why two plus two equaled four. Like the answer was obvious – staring him right in the face – and for some reason he just wasn't seeing it. His voice gave off that vibe, too, when he gave him his answer. "Because there's always next year."_

Jonathan shook his head to try and clear it. He felt like he was going to be sick. Which wasn't a threat at all, because he hadn't eaten anything in ages, and the thought of food now just made his stomach cramp more. He wanted it out of his head. He wanted Cameron out of his head. His smile, his voice and how bright it was, the way he'd always laughed too hard trying to get a joke out, the way he'd looked that Christmas before they went downstairs and he saw that there wasn't a dog sitting there waiting for them, how he'd still smiled and brushed it off when he had, but Jonathan had seen him wilt just a little bit when he'd thought he'd turned away.

He wanted him out of his head, because it hurt to even think his _name_ , let alone everything about him. But immediately, the desire was enough to make him ill on the spot. It brought white-hot guilt to burn through his skin. The fact that he could so much as even consider wanting to forget Cameron was appalling. He didn't want to forget him. And that's why this was so horrible. He didn't want to forget him— he still wanted him _here_ , so how could he wish for his memory to be gone too? Memories were all he had. They hurt and stabbed, like hundreds of little knives were going right through his heart…but he couldn't wish for them to leave. Otherwise Cameron would be gone entirely, like he'd never existed.

And as he continued to walk, that searing guilt sharpened. He was angry. He was angry at everything. He was angry their dad had never given Cameron that damn dog, when Cameron never asked for anything. He was angry Cameron stayed so bright and optimistic despite it— still looked up to their dad like he was on some kind of pedestal Jonathan couldn't see. He was angry MW had been at the show that night— that she was there in Times Square and he had been stupid enough to look at her twice. He was angry he hadn't dived for Cameron first when he'd been in the vault. He was angry he couldn't slam his heart back into beating.

And now he was angry that was all there was. He was angry Cameron would never get the chance to have a dog at all, if he'd even still been thinking about the idea. He was angry he wouldn't have another Christmas to unwrap presents when it had been his favorite day of the year. He was angry he would never get to see his smile again, even though he'd always told himself the incessantness of it was annoying. He was angry Cameron would never maybe find someone and have a kid and brag about them every single day and shove his phone into Jonathan's face for updates on them and be happy and grow into that old man that's always telling stupid jokes people only laugh at to get them to stop. He was angry MW took this all away from him— took _Cameron_ away from him, and everyone else for that matter. That she got off free, without a single repercussion.

He was angry. He was _pissed_. He wasn't going to let her—

"Wait a second, is that…?"

The very instant he heard the hiss to his left, the enraged look that had been crawling over Jonathan's face melted away into an expression of alarm. His eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks. It was a second before he was recovered enough to actually do something. He considered the option of not stopping at all— the option of walking ahead like he hadn't even heard whoever it was in the first place. Or just straight out running and trying to lose them in the crowd. But he knew that was the wrong move. If he ran, he'd draw attention to himself…and that was if whoever had noticed him in the first place didn't call out for him louder. Then he might as well really have a spotlight on him.

Every instinct told him to take off, but he gritted his teeth against it and began to turn. His eyes were flickering a little from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of those stupid reindeer antlers that would signal a security guard. There weren't that many in the first place, but they were still around. When Jonathan turned, all he saw was the same thick crowd milling about— this time, with one family out of the throng stopped in their tracks to look at him. Immediately, he wanted to kick something. There was a Rudolph statue not ten feet away, he could kick that over. He'd never liked Rudolph in the first place – he'd always thought he was too smug – but he knew what he actually had to do was nip this problem in the bud before it could become an actual, _really huge_ problem.

Not even giving them a second to take him in and do anything at all, Jonathan doubled back and rushed up to _them_ , instead. "Hey!" he hissed, talking low underneath whatever Christmas song was now blaring obnoxiously around them. He was pretty sure it was Feliz Navidad, now. His voice was already way hoarser than he'd thought it would actually be. It was a miracle the family of four could hear him. But hear him they did, and when they saw him fully, they all lit up like Christmas trees, excuse the metaphor. The two parents were impressed on their own, but the two kids were practically trying not to scream. The boy was grinning from ear to ear and the little girl looked fit to swoon. Jonathan flashed them all an expertly-perfected smile, and injected happiness into his voice as much as he could. "How are you?"

"How are we!?" the dad blustered, and Jonathan fought not to wince at the volume. His smile just grew a tad more nervous, and the man laughed as he went on. Too loudly. "This is _crazy_ , we're just here to give the kids something to do, and I pass you, and I stop and I'm like: 'Hang on a second, isn't that Ca—?'"

He stopped him before the name could actually get into the air and hang there for everyone to hear. At the same time, Jonathan didn't think he could stomach actually hearing it. Already with the first two letters, an unpleasantness was clenching hard in the pit of his stomach. He kept his smile on, though. "Yeah, crazy, right? But it's like I say: nothing's impossible! Isn't that right, sweetheart?" he prompted, looking down at the little girl, who positively beamed. He tried to ignore how much it hurt: pretending to be him again. How much it hurt to force those bright words out or smile his too-happy too-excited grin. To be reminded that he was the only person now who had these traits. That this was closest people were ever going to get now to seeing Cameron, and it wasn't even genuine.

"But here's the thing," he went on, still trying to uphold the façade even if it did feel like someone was stabbing him in the chest. "I was _kind of_ trying not to get too noticed here, you know how it is," he said, trying to get the dad on board with a sly grin, as if they were in on a little secret together now. Which, in a way, they were, he guessed. "I guess I'm better at magic than I am at laying low," or the problem was he just needed a better disguise, that was his number one thing he needed to do, and now that he had money… "and I hope it's not too much to ask, but I hope you guys won't spread the news I'm here. Then I'll be here for hours; I was already just on my way out."

"Oh, of course!" the wife burst in with this promise, leaning over and elbowing her husband in the side. "We won't breathe a single word, it's just— wow, we're such big fans, and to see you all the way out here at our Christmas festival, it's just so strange!" Jonathan was nodding quickly, trying to signal her to stop talking so loudly. A couple people passing closer to them were glancing at them with curiosity. Any longer and any more obvious, and there was going to be a crowd around him, which meant less means of escape and way more attention. Both of which didn't go very well together. "I guess they mean what they say: celebrities really are just like us!"

"Yeah, yeah, we all love Christmas, okay, so—" In his haste, a bit of his 'Cameron' was leaving to be replaced by himself. They were apparently too over the moon to notice.

"I hate to ask!" Jonathan stopped as the father went on, trying to hide his mounting irritation. Why did people always say that? Why did people _always_ say, 'I hate to ask' or 'Sorry for asking, but'? They weren't sorry at all because if they were, they wouldn't have done it in the first place. He turned back, already knowing what was coming, but feigning interest instead. "But could my family get a picture with you? Nobody would…" He laughed. "Nobody would believe it if we said we met Cameron Black at a Christmas party."

He grimaced at the name, but he grimaced even more at the implication the question brought. Pictures meant stories, and they could also mean social media. The FBI was sure to be tracking him down this very second, and that meant they would be all over this picture if it made it to Twitter or Facebook or whatever. A picture of Cameron Black all the way out here? When Cameron was dead? The news hadn't broken yet, obviously, or the family would be screaming about a zombie really cramping their Christmas mood. Maybe it had to be covered up, or at least cleaned up first— how to explain how Cameron Black was helping a mastermind killer steal a prized diamond instead of the FBI and died in the process? That would mean the FBI would actually have to fess up to handing out secret information to some random person off the street. Which would open up this entire mess that of course they would never want to _waste their precious time on_. That was likely the reason. The FBI didn't care about Cameron, but they cared about their image— their reputation. He wouldn't be surprised at all that they would delay the news to 'get the facts straight.'

But it was getting to be that time that it would come out. One way or another. Even if it was held back for a little bit longer, the FBI at least would know the instant they saw that picture that it was Jonathan. Not that he was staying here, now that he'd gotten what he needed. But the less of a trail he could leave, the better. He was so far beyond caring about anything, but this was the one thing he needed to hang onto: getting to MW. And he couldn't do that, if…well, but…hang on…if he…

'Don't do it, come on, I'm begging you at this point. Don't. Please be smart, _please_ just—'

"Sure, I'll take a picture with you really quick," Jonathan brightened. He glanced around and beckoned them to the side. "Here, back here." They could all duck behind one of the big standees of a gingerbread house. That way at least other people wouldn't notice that there were photos being taken and wonder what was up. Maybe he'd avoid a frenzy that way. "Here, why don't I take a picture with the kids, and then I can take a picture with the two of you, too?" he prompted, and felt a rush of satisfaction when the parents were immediately in agreement.

So he took a photo with the two little ones first, putting a hand down on the older boy's shoulder, and hugging the littler girl to his leg as he flashed the phone a smile that was so perfectly Cameron's that he was impressed he didn't get sick right then and there. From there, the kids and the adults swapped places. The boy took his father's phone and his place where he was standing, making sure his sister stayed put. Jonathan moved to be in the middle of the two, putting his hands on the smalls of their backs this time. "Say…'Ta-Da!'" he cheered. Both of them chorused it out wholeheartedly. Still grinning, Jonathan declared: "And one more for the road." Yet another snap, and then they were done.

Then there was a hand-shaking and thank yous and tons of other things Jonathan didn't care about. Honestly, he was just itching to take off at this point. He ruffled the boy's hair and gave the little girl another hug and said "Goodbye, princess" which made her squeal and rush away. And then the family started to go back to the festival, the dad asking how cool it was that they met their favorite magician, and did they want to go see Santa now too? That was when Jonathan knew he'd overstayed his welcome. Coming here in the first place was a horribly risky idea and that had almost made the whole thing fall apart as it was. He had to take off.

And he could, now.

He watched them retreat until he was by himself. Until he dropped Cameron's smile and his stony expression came back to replace it. He turned, breaking away from the party entirely, and starting to crunch through the snow towards the way people had been dragging their kids when they'd loudly been proclaiming it was late and time to go home, and no you can't buy a reindeer because they're not even for sale and you're probably allergic, too, honey. He headed that way, having glimpsed the parking lot that was situated far from all the games and houses and lights and really too elaborate of a set-up in Jonathan's opinion. He walked hurriedly, and this time he kept his head down more. And as he kept his head down, he reached back into his pocket to dig for what he'd just gotten. What he'd just managed to lift without the father even noticing.

And he clenched his fingers tightly around the keys as he tried to figure out which car they belonged to.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I _have_ to _leave_." It was about the fiftieth time that Cameron had declared this. Each time, his words got tauter and angrier, but each time, nothing was able to come from it, either. He was stuck, and Cameron Black never did well when he was stuck someplace. Everyone else was very much aware of this fact already, even without his constant announcing. It was in his pinched expression, his stiffened posture and the way he kept glancing at the clock like if he did it enough times, they would shoot forward about five hours. But apparently time didn't work like that, which was r _eally s_ tarting to tick him off.

Kay had stayed with the others— it wasn't like she had anywhere to go now that she was officially off of the entire case. She was in the windowsill with Jordan. As it seemed, right now they were the odd ones out in the others' eyes. Dina still sat in the chair at Cameron's bedside, and Gunter was in the recliner. Just like before, Cameron's announcement wasn't met with much. Gunter shifted and looked away, and Dina only seemed pained, which made Cameron even more irritable. Not really picking up on his reaction – or maybe she just didn't care – she tried to change the subject. "Why don't we order something?" she prompted. She turned to the tray table alongside the hospital bed and plucked up the folded menu that was waiting there. Cameron sighed and closed his eyes. "They have a lot to choose from. They have—"

"Dina, I'm not hungry," he grumbled.

She wilted. Before she took in a quick breath and tried to be sterner. "You have to be hungry, Cameron, you've been sleeping for ages. And did you even have anything to eat while you were gone, either?" Cameron opened his eyes again. Though he didn't say it out loud, because that would give her way too much satisfaction, he realized he hadn't. Though the fact didn't really matter, because he was being honest: he really wasn't hungry. Oddly enough, when your brother was gone possibly to go out and kill someone for absolutely no reason, _and_ two of your ribs were broken and hurting so bad you wanted to vomit, you didn't really have enough time to reflect on it and think: 'You know what would really be perfect for this situation? A cheeseburger.'

"I'm not hungry," he repeated.

She sighed. "I'm ordering you something."

"I won't eat it."

"Then I will," Gunter flashed back, shooting him an irritated look.

Without missing a beat, Cameron declared: "Then I hope it has ginger in it."

Given that he was allergic, Gunter didn't take too kindly to the sentiment. He rolled his eyes and looked away, grumbling under his breath: "I think I preferred you when you couldn't breathe. At least then you were quieter."

"I can be _super_ quiet," Cameron pressed. "If you let me leave to go find Jonathan, you won't hear from me at all, how does _that_ sound?"

"Cameron, we understand you want to find him," Jordan exhaled. "We want to find him too. The second you're okay enough, we _can_ , but right now you're just too hurt and we want to make sure you're fine before—"

"You're one to talk about safety," Gunter growled, refusing to listen.

Jordan stopped short, looking over at him with a frown. He opened his mouth again, like he was tempted to go on anyway, but after a second he bit it back. He just gave up and sank into the window glumly. Kay's eyes flickered to him, but she said nothing. Cameron, on the other hand, wasn't about to take the silent road. He never often did. "What's that about?" he asked, looking between the two. Dina glanced away uncomfortably as well, and he only got more confused. "What's up with you three?" he pressed. "You've been acting weird this entire time."

Kay decided to throw light on it. Albeit hesitantly. "You told Jordan and nobody else," she reminded him. Cameron had to take a second to realize what she was going on about but once he did, he stilled and frowned. "Apparently you called him and told him not to tell anyone where you were. Or what was going on."

"And like an idiot, Jordan agreed," Gunter grumbled. "Somehow he thought keeping secrets was an okay thing to do when it came to something serious like this."

Cameron looked at Jordan again, to see his friend sag even more back into the glass. His frown worsened. His eyebrows drew together, and he looked between each person. When he realized how upset even Dina looked, he seemed to draw some line. "Hey, wait a second." He tried to move to sit up, but the strain was immediately too much for his ribs. He gritted his teeth and turned to raise the head of his bed up and just be satisfied with that much. Though even that was applying way too much pressure around his sides, and he had to stop only halfway before it got to be too much. His voice was weaker when he went on. "Hey, I _told_ Jordan not to tell you guys," he reminded. Jordan looked up at this. "Don't be mad at him— if you're going to be mad at anyone, it makes the most sense to be mad at me, doesn't it?"

Dina opened her mouth to reply. Gunter beat her to it. "We're mad at the both of you," he clarified.

Cameron blinked, then tilted his head to the side as if to say, 'Eh, fair enough.'

"Why didn't you trust us?" Dina demanded, and it was the hurt in her voice that sobered Cameron at once. "Why did you tell Jordan and nobody else? We were so worried about you. And to hear that you called Jordan…and that he at least got to know that you were okay…" She shook her head. Cameron didn't think he'd ever heard her sound this strained before.

His face fell. An unexpected rush of guilt hit him, and he looked down at the blankets. He had to take a few seconds to gather himself, but when he did he took in a deep breath and started slowly. "I'm sorry." He looked up at the both of them to see that the had their undivided attention now. "You're right. I shouldn't have asked him to lie for me. And it wasn't because I didn't trust you guys. It's just…it was in the moment, I wasn't thinking…I was hoping the less people knew, the easier it would be. At the time, I thought it wasn't that big a deal. And…I was wrong. For thinking that. I shouldn't have lied to you. I shouldn't have asked Jordan to lie, either. The only reason he did was because he was being a good friend to me. So if you're going to be angry at anyone, it should just be me. Not Jordan. It wasn't his fault."

Silence met his words. Dina and Gunter were both torn. Neither of them seemed sure on what to say. Cameron looked at Jordan, though, and saw that he looked as if five million pounds had been taken off his shoulders. He smiled, and Cameron met the gesture, especially when he was given a soft: "Thanks, boss." The rush of affection he felt in reaction to this was what spurred him forward.

"We're a family," he stated, turning back to address everyone again. Kay was a silent audience off to the side, staying out of the interaction entirely, but watching it all unfold. Her eyes were soft when he announced this. "We've always been a family, and you're right: families don't keep secrets from each other. So from now on, there won't be any more. It was wrong of me to try and keep this one, and to ask Jordan to do the same. I'm sorry. I don't want it to be between any of us anymore." It took a second for it all to sink in, but he could tell when it did, because Dina slowly melted into a smile. Gunter didn't exactly beam, but he did offer a tiny nod, which was basically the same thing. Or, at least, Cameron was willing to take it.

But he also wasn't done. " _But_. Families _also_ stick together," he pushed, and immediately Dina's grin was gone. She sagged forward more, as if in defeat, but Cameron sprinted to finish before she could interrupt. He practically saw her building the argument on her tongue, and he'd heard it all by now. "And our family's been way too split up for way too _long_!" His voice sharpened with desperation. "And if Jonathan goes through with whatever he's doing, then it's going to _stay_ that way! We're _never_ going to have that chance of getting it back again! So come _on_!"

"The FBI—" Dina tried.

"Is _really bad_ , no offense Kay," Cameron completed, ignoring the glare she shot at him. "Or they _will_ be bad when it comes to Jonathan. He's hidden all his _life_." This was said with the smallest tinges of sadness. "He's hidden _way_ more than I have, and even _I_ would know to how to hide from the FBI. He's an expert, they're not going to find him." His blue eyes were steely with determination and conviction. There wasn't any changing his mind, it didn't seem. "He can hide in _plain sight_ , I've seen him do it a million times. We all have." The other three couldn't argue. It only encouraged him further. "He can get away the very second he needs to— almost _before_ he needs to, sometimes. If he's out there already, then he's already been left alone too long."

He looked at Kay steadily. Her expression was pained and conflicted. He put even more belief behind his words when he told her: "My brother is _innocent_. He's never hurt anyone in his entire life. But if he _wanted_ to…he could kill anyone he wanted. Both of us could." Kay looked as though she'd prefer to laugh off this statement. Frankly, the thought of Cameron even killing a butterfly was laughable. But something in his expression made it impossible for her to do so. She could only hold his stare, not even blinking. "We _need_ to find him," Cameron went on. "I need to find him— I know him, I could do it. We need to find him, and we need to get me _out there_ , where there's a chance he can realize I'm okay," he said, gesturing out towards the window, but flinching when the movement caused pain to flash up his side.

Dina looked mournful now. She knew he was right but at the same time… "What do you want to do, Cameron?" she asked softly. He closed his eyes again. "You can barely even sit up. What do you expect to do if you leave?"

He thought about the answer for a moment, and once he came up with one he practically exhaled it out. "More than I could if I didn't. And I'm willing to do it. For Johnny." Screw the pain. He didn't care about it at all. If he knew he could save his brother before he did anything rash, he would. He'd down a million pain pills and keep pushing himself if it meant this whole thing was solved before permeant damage could be inflicted. Nobody spoke after he said this, but nobody argued either. There was an awkward gap where it seemed like agreement was right around the corner, but nobody was actually certain enough to offer it. Cameron was about to press on, when there was a quiet knocking at the door.

They all turned to see that same technician – the one Gunter was probably going to end up killing before the day was out – shuffling through the door with her DynaMap. She smiled the very second the attention was put on her. Though the smile was very clearly nervous, and it only got more so when she looked at Cameron. "I'm here for more vitals," she announced. It made him look at the clock and get even angrier at the time that stared back at him. He'd been here way too long. Though he didn't fight, his expression was strained as he let her wrap the blood pressure cuff around his arm like she had before. Out of habit, or maybe out of some social awkwardness, she started to talk to fill the silence. "Sorry to break up your party," she giggled, fiddling with the cuff to make sure it was on perfectly. "I'll be in and out."

"Wish I could say the same," Cameron grumbled.

She glanced at him and frowned a little. When she spoke again she tried to make her voice even peppier. "At least you're doing better! The nurse took you off your oxygen and everything! Although…" She looked at the screen of her machine after she put the clip on his finger, and she frowned. "Your O2 levels are only at ninety right now…can you take some deep breaths for me? We wanna try to get that number up to at least ninety-two…" Cameron did as she asked, grimacing at the certain tightness in his chest that came with it. She continued to watch the screen as the number ticked up to ninety-one, and then eventually climbed to ninety-two. It was obvious she was waiting for it to get even a little higher, but Cameron was getting light-headed so he stopped. She'd have to make do with bare minimum. All the same, she grinned. "Thank you very much."

She went to the computer and flashed her badge, to start logging everything. Cameron was more than frustrated by now, and the question couldn't keep itself from bursting out. "So what do you guys do if someone doesn't want to be here anymore?" Dina flashed him a look and Kay even mumbled his name exhaustedly under her breath. Both of which he was going to ignore, but still. He was at least aware of them. The technician turned, looking confused. And already frightened, at a question she apparently had never encountered before. "You know, like…you can't…keep someone here if they say no, right? Isn't that a thing?"

"I…" She trailed off uncertainly.

"Cameron, please don't do this," Dina pleaded. "It's not like you can—"

"It's a legitimate question," Cameron insisted. "They _cannot_ keep me here if I don't want to be here, can they?"

"It's what's medically necessary, Cameron, you're not this stupid," Gunter snapped.

"Debatable," Cameron countered immediately, in a tiny mumble.

"Well…I've never had a patient leave, yet, but…you could always go AMA…" the tech murmured suddenly. He turned back to her at once, and she was alarmed at the sudden interest that was radiating off of him. She continued, more than unsure. "I would have to call your nurse, I think, and you'd have to fill out a bunch of forms…but…we can't _technically_ keep you here, you have a point…" She glanced at her machine, to his blood pressure that had just popped up. "167 over 100…" she mumbled, looking concerned. Her eyes went to his O2 levels again and she wilted. "You're down to 89…are you sure you don't—?"

"What's AMA?" Cameron interrupted, literally not caring _at all_ about whatever she was listing.

She lingered on the screen for a heartbeat more, looking troubled. Her expression was no less assured when she looked back at him to see him practically bursting with impatience. And the answer came slowly. "…Against Medical Advice."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He pulled over at a rest stop to try and clear his head. He wasn't too far away from the town he'd just left, that liked to celebrate Christmas early and celebrate it _hard_. But Jonathan wasn't entirely sure on where he was going to go, from here. He needed to plan, and he needed to count his money, both of which he could do in the very last corner parking space of this rest stop, which was largely empty. The only people that were stopping at this time of night were only doing so to use the bathroom and then hurry back along to wherever they were headed.

He'd managed to find the car by locking it unlocking it repeatedly, trying to figure out which one lit up in accordance to it. Thankfully no one was really around or paying enough attention to notice, and he managed to get there before the family decided to hit the hay on everything, too. He got out with no security noticing him, and if the family did end up spreading the word about him, it didn't really matter because he was well on his way out, and nobody else flagged him down. This car was much bigger than the other one…and it was also much more guilt-inducing with the toys in the backseat and the car seat that was there, too.

He'd bring this one back. He promised himself that. He'd find MW quickly, he'd do what he needed to do, and he'd bring this one back. He just had no choice right now. He was sorry it had to be that family, because they looked genuinely nice. He just needed a car to do this. Once he did it, he'd go back to that lot and leave it there…it'd eventually find its way back to them, he was sure. They had been a nice family, and so happy to have seen him— or…to have seen Cameron. Jonathan knew he would be the same if he got to see his brother again. They didn't deserve to get their car taken from them.

But he didn't deserve to have his brother taken from him, either.

He looked back down at the stacks of money he had in front of him. He'd done more than enough. There was well over four hundred dollars here, with everything stacked up together. He'd gotten a whole lot more twenties than he'd thought he did. He guessed going to a place like that, you couldn't really leave too much money at home. And there was money in this car too— he found a ten in the glovebox, and another ten in the center console. This was good…he didn't need too much in the first place, just enough for a couple things he needed…

" _I don't need one anyway," Cameron announced suddenly._

 _Jonathan frowned. "A way out?" he asked. "You kind of need a way out, Cameron." Currently his brother was attempting to get out of a straightjacket. Usually the feat was no problem at all— he could do that ever since he was thirteen. But this one was different. It was outfitted with about five locks and it also came with a helpful, thick chain that looped completely from Cameron's shoulders to his waist. Cameron's task today was to figure out how the hell he was supposed to get out of it. And he'd started that assignment about an hour and a half ago. Jonathan had been doing his best to try and help him, because he could see how Cameron's frustration and panic was building by now. Oddly enough, his brother didn't do well in confined spaces, at least for a very long amount of time. Of course, their dad didn't know that, only Jonathan did. This was taking its toll by now._

 _So it was surprising to have Cameron just say this out of the blue. Maybe he was just trying to distract himself._

" _No, I would kill a man in cold blood to get a way out right now," Cameron grumbled, trying to twist sharply and elbow his way out of the stupid wrapping. But to no avail, and he grumbled under his breath as he just shook his head fast and tried something else. "I meant a dog. I don't need one."_

 _Jonathan blinked a few times, looking up from the lock he was holding. If their dad saw him helping he'd have a fit, but he wasn't here right now, surprise, surprise. He made a face that Cameron didn't see, because he was too busy stumbling around in a circle right now. The lock was taken along with him and ripped out of Jonathan's hands, and he let his arms swing down to his sides. "Well…" Cameron grumbled about how he was going crazy and would have to_ stay _in this straightjacket. "Yeah, I mean…but you_ want _one still…right?"_

" _Yeah, I want one," Cameron agreed. "But I don't_ need _one. Are there any scissors in this stupid house?"_

 _Jonathan ignored him. His forehead creased. "It doesn't matter that you don't need one, Cam. I didn't need the books I got…nobody really_ needs _what they get at Christmas, usually. If you did, people wouldn't like it nearly as much." Cameron jumped up and down, scowling as he did another twirl. Jonathan would laugh if the circumstances were different. "You don't need a dog, but you want one, and that might even be more important." He shook his head. "When was the last time you got something you_ wanted _?"_

" _I get that all the time," Cameron objected. He tripped and stumbled to try and catch himself. He ended up smacking into the wall. He cursed under his breath— or, his version of a curse, which Jonathan couldn't really hear completely, but he_ did _hear the phrase 'Gosh darn it.' He started to straighten up again, but at the last second his feet slid out from under him and he ended up just collapsing with a huff. From there, he was like a turtle that couldn't get back up. Though it wasn't for a lack of trying._

 _Jonathan stepped over him to help but paused for a second to look down at him pointedly. "Do you want_ this _?" he demanded._

" _In particular?" Cameron puffed. "No, not this in particular. At the moment."_

" _Well, this is what you're always doing!" Jonathan pressed. He sighed when Cameron tried to get up again and basically just accomplished flailing his legs around awkwardly. He stooped down and grabbed his brother's shoulders, easing him up. "You're always doing tricks like these for Dad or_ practicing _tricks that he wants you to be an expert with in the next two hours. He's always asking you to do stuff like this, and you always do it and never even complain. You never_ want _to, but you do anyway." He got him back up to stand and looked at him imploringly. "So why doesn't it matter, then, when you_ do _want something but don't get it?"_

" _Because I don't_ need _it!" he pressed, and Jonathan rolled his eyes. Cameron stuck out his tongue and wriggled, but to no avail. He went on after a second. "If it was something I needed and I didn't get, then I could be upset about it. But I don't need a dog – my life doesn't depend on getting a dog – so if I don't get one, then it's not that big a deal. I can be upset about it, but it's not like…_ life-shattering _that I don't get it. Life can continue without a dog."_

 _Jonathan sighed. He shook his head and looked back to see Cameron was practically having a seizure standing up trying to get this thing off of him. It just made him more frustrated. His brother was the stubbornest person that existed on this planet, he was pretty sure. He knew there was no changing his mind. If he hadn't changed it by now, it was pretty much a lost cause. "Well, what_ do _you need, then?" he sighed. "You mean to tell me you'll be satisfied with anything that happens in your life just because you have food and water and someplace to sleep? I don't believe you."_

" _Well, duh," Cameron said through clenched teeth. He pulled at his restraints again, and again he was disappointed. He groaned out loud and flung his head back for a second, wallowing in frustration. Before he perked back up again to look at his brother. "I mean, those are the basics," he elaborated. "You see, you need that stuff to_ not _die, and that's pretty much the general_ goal _, so if I didn't get that stuff I'd be pretty upset." Jonathan hummed, pretending to be impressed with the explanation. Cameron shot him an amused look before he looked back down at his confines. "But that's not all," he offered. "Well— it's most of it. But I need_ you _, too."_

 _Jonathan stopped short, blinking fast and a couple times too many. He looked at Cameron oddly, surprised with the comment that was proposed so simply. His brother was oblivious to it, but he continued anyway. "I need_ you _, and if I have you— well, you're kind of as good as a dog, I guess. You don't fetch, but you keep me company when you're not being crabby. Why would I need something_ else _to keep me company too? I don't. So I don't_ need _a dog. As long as I have you, it's fine. I don't mind."_

 _He stayed still and mute, just watching his brother stumble around like an idiot trying to get out of the straightjacket their dad put on him and just walked away from. His expression weakened. Maybe with a little sadness, but mostly it weakened out of affection. Cameron wasn't averse to saying mushy things— out of the two of them, he was obviously the first to say things like that. But it still didn't happen often. It still left an impact when it did, even if Cam wasn't acting like it was._

 _He was silent, sitting with this sentiment for what felt like ages. Before he sighed and smiled a worn little grin. "Here, let me help," he urged, stepping close and starting to work on that one lock. He thought he'd almost got it before, until Cameron had whirled away. His brother stumbled, twisting his neck comically to try and see what he was doing. It took a while, and a few missed tries, but eventually Jonathan yanked on it and it snapped open. One down, four to go. But the instant he heard the click, Cameron lit up like the sun. He absolutely beamed, when he looked back up at Jonathan._

 _And his voice was just a bright when he declared happily: "_ See _?"_

Sometimes Jonathan had joked that he didn't 'see it.' To Dina, or Gunter, or Jordan, or Cameron, the population of the world he was allowed to actually be open with, he would claim: "Eh, I don't see the resemblance. You guys are crazy." They'd all laugh it off. So would he. Because it _was_ just a joke— he and Cameron were genetically identical. There wasn't a single thing about their faces that didn't match. Put them together, dressed the same, and shuffle them around and close your eyes…when you looked again, you wouldn't be able to tell which was which.

Or at least that's what Jonathan had thought, before. Now he wasn't so sure.

Looking at himself in the mirror of the car, he was waiting to see it. He was waiting to see the resemblance. The identicalness.

He was waiting to see Cameron again. See his smile. The light in his eyes that was always there, no matter what.

He looked. He waited.

But the face that stared back at him was desolate and defeated. The eyes were red and irritated from crying, and they were shadowed with a lack of sleep. There was no grin. No hint of laughter that was sure to come in the next five seconds. There wasn't a happiness that radiated out like warmth, as if it really did come from the sun. He didn't see any of it.

He didn't see Cameron at all.

He just saw himself.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"This is stupid."

"We are _experts_ when it comes to stupid!"

" _You're_ the expert when it comes to stupid. We're just dragged along."

"You _love_ it!" Cameron cheered, his eyes burning brightly with excitement. Or maybe they were burning bright with pain, instead. He was limping in the middle of the group, because Jordan and Gunter were worried about catching him if he started to fall, and Kay and Dina were worried about clearing a path for him so nobody bumped into him. "Otherwise you all would have left me ages ago and yet here we are." He'd signed all the forms the second that technician had started to explain those three letters. He'd signed every paper, he'd gotten his clothes back, the bed alarm was disabled, and here Cameron Black was not an hour and a half later: AMA.

He was limping severely, and practically gagging on every other step he took with his broken ribs. He was weak from a lack of food, and a couple of times he staggered and Gunter rushed out to catch him, looking a cross between severely angry and severely concerned. Like he wanted to stab him, but then immediately give him a bandage to make up for it. They were crawling along like a slug. It was actually very ridiculous— the whole thing was, and the entire group had said it about a gazillion times on the way down alone, and they were just now getting out of the building. But Cameron was deaf to it all. He'd signed the papers and there was literally nothing they could do but comply.

Crossing the threshold of the hospital and coming out into the night air, Cameron stopped for a moment, and the rest of them did, too. They all looked at him expectantly, waiting for what they knew was coming. He had to catch his breath, though, before anything could get out. It didn't really help their concerns. Catching Gunter's worried and angry look, Cameron made a point to gasp between inhales: "This…is your fault, by the…way…don't even…don't even look at me like this…you could've…been gentler. This…'s on you."

He looked away with a grumbled declaration of: "I'm going to kill him."

"Cameron, whatever we do, it has to be easy," Dina said flatly. Cameron looked at her, still trying to breathe, and she shook her head. "We can go after Jonathan, but we're not going to let you get yourself hurt any more than you already are. No danger. Absolutely no pushing yourself. And when we find Jonathan, you are going right back into that hospital." She sounded like a mother scolding her son for being an idiot. Which wasn't too far from the truth. "Do you understand? Those are the conditions, otherwise we're not going to help you." This, of course, was a complete lie. They would sooner die than leave Cameron, especially right now. But it came anyway.

Thankfully, he wasn't going to call her out on it. He just nodded, getting enough air back to actually speak now. "Yeah, of course, there…won't be any problems. It'll be easy. Easy-peasy." She looked at him blandly, but let it drop. He was looking past her, towards the parking lot. One eye was closed in severe pain as he looked over the mostly-empty blacktop. Empty as in no people. Just cars. "Okay," he breathed. "First thing's…first, I need…attention."

"That sums up your entire personality," Gunter commented dryly.

"And so did the time you said 'Yes'…when I asked…if you hated fun, but we're not…we're not talkin' 'bout that right now," Cameron gasped, literally waving him off with one hand.

"You wanted to have a water gun fight, I said I hated the water guns."

"Yeah. So anyway…" Gunter rolled his eyes as Cameron plowed on. "I need…someone from…a magazine or…newspaper to see me or something, usually that's not…hard. I guess it's…late." He exhaled heavily and gasped again with a little flinch. Everyone was staring at him with clear concern, but he was blocking it all out. "I need my picture somewhere he…might see it. A newspaper, or TV, something— Dina, you…can do that, right?"

She thought for a second but nodded. "I can."

He grinned. "Good. That's easy enough." Maybe that'd be all they had to do. Get his name out there in some way, and then from there Jonathan would rush back. But if not…well, Cameron was just going to have to go out and drag him back. And he would— there was no doubt in his mind he'd manage it. He knew Jonathan like the back of his hand. He was the best chance at getting him back. This would all be fixed, even without the FBI helping them. They had Kay. The FBI didn't want her, but Cameron sure did. With her help too, they were golden.

He started to brighten more and more, and the grin on his face grew. He started to become surer that this actually _was_ going to be an easy fix. It'd all work out and pretty soon it'd just be a fun story to tell at parties and talk shows. The others were still clearly skeptical, but they'd see. He was positive.

He nodded once and straightened up despite his ribs, which were still screaming in pain. And, grinning widely, he declared: "Let's go find my brother."


	4. Chapter 4

_"No, look, it's called The Broken Wand Ceremony!" Jonathan sighed, trying to focus more on the words he was reading rather than the words that were spouting from Cameron's mouth. "When a magician dies, you take their wand and you snap it in half. Or, I guess into more pieces…it just depends on what you want. But look!" Cameron had his own book and he was currently trying his best to shove_ that _into his brother's face instead of the one he was holding. Jonathan was meeting all his efforts by just holding his novel closer and closer to his nose. Cameron huffed. He gave up and looked down at the book himself, his eyes bright. "The first one was at Houdini's funeral, and ever since then it's been a thing. You break the wand and the family keeps all the pieces. It's supposed to show that the magic is all gone, but the memory of it isn't. Or something like that."_

" _That's great, Cameron, but I_ don't _care," Jonathan grumbled. "I'm trying to read. You're being annoying."_

"You're _being crabby," Cameron quipped, not even looking up from his book. "Come on, it's cool! It's…deep." Jonathan rolled his eyes, and Cameron tried to hold back an impatient sigh. He shook his head and moved on, his voice becoming more dismissive. "Well,_ I _like it," he announced. "I want to do it. Or, I want_ us _to do it, I mean, 'cause you know we both have to die together. Otherwise one of us is gonna get up to heaven first and spread rumors about the other and then it'll be this whole awkward mess when all the angels think you do crack cocaine, which I may or may not have told them, but will definitely be a let-down at the next party when they discover you're just a lame nerd that reads books instead."_

 _Jonathan had given up trying to read halfway through the speech, taking instead to just stare over the top of his book in a way that clearly pleaded: 'Kill me.' He waited a heartbeat more once Cameron was finished, the silence practically demanding to know whether or not he was actually through. But apparently, he was, because he fell silent. So Jonathan grumbled again: "You don't even have a wand, Cameron. It'd be stupid. Not that it already isn't…" he added under his breath._

" _You don't need an actual wand, it can be a symbolic one," Cameron pressed. "It's just for really famous magicians— that's us! So we have to do it!" He added a little slyer: "I mean, we practically don't even have a choice, when you really think about it."_

 _Jonathan closed his book and hit it lightly against his forehead. His reply was reluctant, and it was mostly just an exhale. "If I agree with you, will this conversation end?" he sighed._

" _If you're gonna use that_ tone, _probably not," Cameron returned._

 _He shifted his legs down more on the couch and dropped his book, so it fell into his lap. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead, before he dropped his arms and turned to fix his brother with a dull look. "If you keep bugging me, you're going to be planning a funeral much sooner than you think." Cameron only brightened up mischievously. It just encouraged Jonathan to make his threat much fuller. "Or_ I _will be, anyway." He picked up his book again with a roll of his eyes. "Because I'm starting to think that's the only way I'll get some peace and quiet. Ever. In my entire life."_

" _You wouldn't kill me," Cameron objected. "You're too lazy to coordinate a funeral."_

" _You're_ absolutely _right, that's why I'm just going to throw your body in the harbor."_

 _He snorted, and before Jonathan could stop him or snap at him to cut it out, he hopped over and plopped down on top of his brother's legs. Jonathan shot him an exasperated glare, but Cameron was sitting comfortably, and only shot him an imploring look. "You have to at least promise me I'll be on a really cool boat. And that fireworks will go off once I'm a safe enough distance away— you can be in charge of making sure I don't set anything on fire. Contrary to popular belief, I never_ want _to start fires. They're always on accident." He turned to tuck back into his book, though he added under his breath: "Although, now that I think about it, it_ does _happen quite a lot…"_

" _You know what else happens a lot?" Jonathan prompted. Cameron hummed, and he had to fight not to roll his eyes. "You bugging the crap out of me."_

" _I don't_ bug _you!" he gasped. "I'm a_ delight _."_

 _Jonathan had to roll his eyes at this one, but he also had to crack a smile. He tried to hide it by opening his book back up, but the huge smile that came over his brother's face was a not-so-subtle indication that the effort was useless. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he scoffed, ignoring the way Cameron was starting to giggle. "It doesn't even_ matter, _we don't need to talk about that kind of stuff anyway. It's depressing."_

 _Cameron's smile faded, and he frowned instead. He looked from his book to his brother before he asked: "How come? It's interesting. It's neat."_

" _No it's_ not _, it's—" Jonathan stopped short. His eyes flickered up but the look on Cam's face now didn't sit as right with him. He just shook his head and attempted to shrug it off. "It's_ depressing _," he repeated, putting a bit more stress on the word. "It's weird to…we just don't need to talk about that kind of stuff. Dying. People don't do that." He turned a page. Cameron's forehead was creasing. Again, Jonathan shook his head. "Just drop it," he requested. "I'm sure there's something else you can waste your time with that doesn't involve…planning funerals that aren't going to happen for ages. Or thinking about what'll happen if…" He trailed off. His eyes flashed, and he purposefully kept them engrossed in the words on the page he wasn't reading anymore. If only to keep them away from Cameron._

 _But he should have known that Cameron wasn't one to take hints. Or, maybe he was with other people, but not with Jonathan. "What's wrong?" he asked. When Jonathan didn't reply, he only grew more confused. "Wait, does it…does it_ really _bother you?" Jonathan said nothing, which in a way was saying everything he needed to. But if the silence wasn't telling enough, the expression that pinched over his face_ was. _The shift was minimal, and barely there, but it registered to Cameron at once. "I was just teasing, Johnny, I wasn't actually thinking about it," Cameron hedged. When his brother still kept clammed up, his eyes narrowed even more in befuddlement. "Why does it bother you to talk about it? It's not like it's going to_ happen _anytime soon, I was just pointing out that—"_

" _Cameron." Jonathan looked up, and Cameron stopped short when their eyes locked. The name had come out flat and dull. And it came with an unspoken yet very clear warning to stop it all there. Sure enough, Cameron heard it loud and clear, and just stared at his brother. Jonathan shook his head again, more exasperated this time. "Just cut it out," he said thinly. "C'mon." Cameron only blinked a couple times, rendered mute for at least right now. So Jonathan looked back down and tried to redirect his attention again, now for the last time._

 _Cameron kept staring at his brother, his expression a mixture of confusion and weird sadness. Even though there was nothing really to be sad about, which he knew. He looked back down uncertainly. It only took a couple seconds, though, before he dropped it. He turned and closed the book before he set it aside, and set it out of his mind for now, too. He turned back to Jonathan and opened his mouth to say something, but it died on his tongue before he could. He eyed his brother oddly, noticing that his shoulders were the tiniest bit stiffer. How his eyes were a little more narrowed, and his jaw was locked back. How he was still put-off._

 _It was clear by the look on his face he had no idea why Jonathan was so upset. But he figured it wouldn't be wise to ask outright, especially now. So he just dropped it. It probably wasn't that important, anyway. "Okay." He jumped back up to his feet, getting off of his brother, and Jonathan didn't look up. Cameron swung his arms a little awkwardly. He started to just turn around and head away. But at the last second, he hesitated and looked back over his shoulder with a grin. He tossed back to him teasingly: "I_ am _a delight, though."_

 _Jonathan snorted. He actually grinned at this. "You_ suck _," he corrected, and Cameron only stuck his tongue out at him. He turned and walked away, leaving him on the couch still tucked into his novel. But Jonathan still wasn't reading anything that was on the page. And when Cameron turned his back to him and walked away, his temporary grin decayed, and he started to frown again instead. He watched his twin go, until he rounded the corner and disappeared entirely, leaving him to be the only one left in the room._

 _He stared after him for a moment longer. Before he just reverted back to his reading, and tried to get himself to focus on that instead. For some reason it took a lot more effort than it probably should have. Even when he did start skimming over the page again, and slowly eased back into the story, the frown stayed put on his face._

Jonathan ducked a little bit, shaking his head as if to clear it. When he knew that by now that wasn't possible at all. He took in a slow breath, and when he let it out, it trembled against his throat. He reached up and drew his hands through his hair, grimacing and trying to regather himself. But his hands were shaking when he dropped them back into his lap. He'd pulled over ages ago. The road he was on was a lonely one, but that was what they all needed to be, now. He'd needed to pull over to get his bearings. To figure things out and wake himself up. By this point he'd gone ages without sleep…but sleep was too dangerous a luxury to take at this point.

He was running out of time. He knew it. He could practically feel the seconds draining by, feel things get closer and closer to caving in on him. It was like a drain had been unplugged and now he was just being dragged down underneath the water. If he wanted to stay uncaught, he had to go somewhere else, he had to go far away. He couldn't just go a few hours in one direction, he couldn't just go a state or two over, like he was now. That wasn't _enough_ to avoid the police— the FBI. They'd find him if he didn't flee and flee _fast_.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that because escaping to freedom wasn't what he was wanting to do. It was what Kay would _think_ he wanted. It was why she thought he'd ran, but she'd be wrong. He'd left to find MW. He'd left to find the woman that had ruined his life and killed his brother, ensuring that he would never be able to recover even a fraction of what he'd had before he'd gotten into the car with her.

The only reason he'd left was to kill her and make her pay. He couldn't do that if he kept running. He _had_ to find her. He couldn't do that if he focused on himself— if he ran somewhere else and somewhere far. He had no idea where she was; he had no idea where to even begin looking. He had no idea if she was still in New York or if she'd left the country herself, a step ahead of them in that respect. He didn't know how he would get all the way over there without a passport, whether or not the trip would be pointless because she was still in the city. He had no idea how he was going to get _back_ into the city without a disguise, he had no idea how far word had spread about his 'escape.'

He couldn't call anyone for help— they would stop him; he knew they would. And already this was difficult enough. If one of them tried to stand in his way, he didn't know what he'd do. He didn't know what he was going to do at _all_ beyond the simple plan of killing MW. That was all he had. After that, he didn't care. He hadn't acknowledged it too much before this moment, but he truly didn't give a single _shit_ about what happened afterwards. All planning stopped with a bullet in her head. That was all he wanted, that was all he _needed— but how was he going to get that far in the first place?_

He was getting nowhere, he was going in circles, he was going _insane,_ with it all _this close to him,_ and yet so far away at the same time. His hands shook even more, he flinched even harder. He looked around at the stolen car, the stolen money, _knowing_ he was in too deep, _knowing_ this had gotten too far, _knowing_ that if there was a slip-up now, then it'd all be for nothing. He _wasn't_ going to have it be for nothing. He wasn't going to let Cameron's life be lost and not have there be any repercussions. He wasn't going to let her win.

He just had to stop.

And he had to _think._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"My hair looks stupid," Cameron whined.

"It matches your personality," Gunter grumbled. To which Cameron muttered: "Rude…"

"This was the best picture out of all of them; you still look like you got hit by a truck, but at least you look like you got hit by a _smaller_ truck," Dina snapped, and Cameron made a face, muttering to himself that they all weren't as fun anymore, and he didn't appreciate their sudden attitudes. "Just be grateful someone took you and everything else at such short notice. And thank your _lucky stars_ your _producer_ knows just the right people to talk to, and slapped this all together in the nick of time."

"And that _I_ was so quick on advertising the whole thing." Jordan was the only one that wasn't being a stick in the mud— the only one that wasn't huffing or complaining or announcing for quite literally the millionth time that this was 'stupid' and 'idiotic' and 'going to kill him.' He was excited, as he held the iPad out for Cameron to see. And even though he wasn't a fan of the photo they'd had to use, he was at least appreciative that one member of this team wasn't mentally plotting to kill him. That was always nice.

It had all been thrown together as best it possibly could. None of them had slept last night, and it was all showing on their faces by this point. But still…they'd managed it. They'd gotten the attention he needed. The attention that would hopefully be enough. Dina had started making calls the second they'd gotten into the car, and she had worked long and hard to get someone to take the bait. Calling as many networks as she could, that had ever shown any interest at all in having Cameron Black perform in a special. And there were plenty; the entire year he'd spent off from performing, Dina had pestered him every single day with them, _pleading_ for him to just _take_ one of their offers and put on a show again. He'd refused time and again because he didn't want to do it without Johnny. That's what she'd told them, in turn.

Now, obviously, the tide had changed just a little bit.

Now, _she_ was calling _them._ Asking if they had any room in their program for Cameron, who had had a sudden change of heart. Who was suddenly _very_ keen on performing, and _yes,_ he _did_ have a whole new show, and it was ready to go, and all they had to do was provide the stage and the cameras, and he would give them the best magic show that had ever been put on live TV. It was a year in the making, of course— how could it _not_ be the best thing ever? It was all lined up for them: the famous Cameron Black, finally coming back to magic. And to top it all off, he had brand new material. She set it all up, pitching it over the phone, which wasn't all that great a thing to do, and it was even less great of a thing to do at the hour of night she was trying to push it.

But it was taken. Someone took the bait, and accepted, and from then it was just a Twitter post away into hopefully getting together everything they needed. They did some crappy, picture— the picture Cameron was currently mourning over. It was barely professional at all, though it didn't really _need_ to be _too_ professional. Cameron just changed into a new, crisp suit. They'd taken off the picture frames and posters of a section of the archive, so the backdrop could be simple brick. It was something cheesy; Cameron couldn't do much. Just standing hurt like hell. It was a miracle he could do that and still smile at the same time, so that was all they really did.

Kay had taken the picture of Cameron grinning and splaying out a deck of cards. A cheesy stance, but it was a trademark one, and they weren't really being that nitpicky on the details of this that didn't matter. The second the photo had been taken, Cameron was practically collapsing into the nearest chair, the smile being replaced with agonizing pain. But he'd brushed everyone off, just rushing Jordan on doing the step that actually mattered. A Twitter post with that photo, and an announcement of Cameron's 'return' to the home screen.

And an enticing promise that anyone who tweeted the hashtag: 'BackInBlack' would be entered to win a free VIP ticket to the performance, the date of which would be announced later, and a backstage pass. Which Dina hadn't _exactly_ ironed out with the network? But that wasn't all that important. What _was_ important…was the response. And _man,_ did they get a response. Hundreds and thousands of tweets, excitedly welcoming his return, asking when the show would be _exactly,_ demanding to know why the sudden change in heart, asking if Jonathan was going to be there with him— a million different things, but they all had one thing in common.

The hashtag at the end, which was now trending.

The hashtag that might get Jonathan's attention somehow.

"Some advertising," Gunter snapped, and Jordan rolled his eyes in exasperation. "A five-year-old could have made a better hashtag."

"Then we should have asked them for help instead of you, because _you_ certainly didn't offer any other ideas when we asked," Jordan quipped.

Gunter shook his head. "This whole thing is made out of popsicle sticks and glue," he growled.

"Yeah, but it's like…gorilla glue," Cameron countered. Gunter didn't take kindly to the retort. Which was a huge shock. "This part doesn't even _matter_ anyway; Jordan where are we at?" Jordan replied by holing up the tablet to display the trending list. So far, they were at number six, and only climbing. Cameron shot a pointed look at Gunter, who was apparently resigned enough not to keep complaining, at least out loud. " _That's_ the only part that's important; we can worry about the details of everything else later. When we find Jonathan, and bring him back, and make him stop acting like a moron— _so!"_ He turned to look at Kay. "Where was he the last time you heard?"

Her eyes flashed as she looked at him. She was quiet for a heartbeat, before she shook her head. "He was just…heading out of the city. The car he stole showed back up in Pennsylvania. He wasn't anywhere to be found, though; he must have stolen another one. But I wasn't able to…" Cameron stared at her, waiting. Her face fell, and her eyes flickered down and away from him. He frowned. "I can try and ask Mike again if there's anything he can tell me, but he's likely to say no…he's already gave us too much. And I couldn't ask him to put himself in the way of Deakins if she found out…"

Cameron looked back front, flinching but seeming more caught up in his disappointment. He bit down on his lower lip, his eyes flickering back and forth at nothing as he tried to think. The others all let him have the silence, and it was a few moments before he spoke, his voice hard but careful. "Okay— we got my name out there. Now we need to…we need to find MW before Jonathan does. That's our best bet— otherwise we'll just be wandering around looking for him and wasting time. If we get MW, then either _we_ find him, or police do, but the _point_ is that nothing goes any wrong than it _already_ has."

"That's all well and good, except we couldn't find MW _before,"_ Dina pointed out. "What makes now any different? What makes you think we can find her?"

The frown stayed on Cameron's face. For a second, it looked like he was just almost inclined to meet her question with a dumb 'I don't know.' The temptation certainly flickered over his face. Before he blinked a couple times, and his expression cleared. He started to straighten up in his realization, but the movement was too jerky, and his sides split in pain. He choked and flinched, ducking his head and flinching hard. Jordan jerked in alarm and Dina rushed out as if to help him. The look on Kay's face was too difficult to read, but her stiffen was noticeable.

He waved them all off, though.

He just sat back in his chair, shaking his head once and declaring: "Because now, we have something she needs."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _It happened too quickly. It happened before anyone could stop it. Before anyone could intervene. Before anyone could even really realize what was happening…it happened. One moment Cameron was thirty feet in the air, perfectly fine. And then he was twenty-nine feet in the air. And then he was twenty-eight feet, twenty-seven, twenty-six, plunging towards the ground and falling like a weight. Before, the crowd had been dead silent. Tense, watching the trick begin to unfold with bated breath and barely-held-in-excitement. When it had happened, that all had been shattered. When it happened, they began to scream. Not screams of exhilaration or wonder, but screams of horror. Panic. Terror. Confusion. Like they weren't exactly sure whether or not this was part of the trick._

 _It_ wasn't _part of the trick. Not at all._

 _The screaming was the only thing he'd heard. The only thing he had to go off of._

 _Something had gone horribly wrong. He wasn't sure what. All Jonathan_ did _know was that he was stuck._

 _He wanted to run out there. He wanted to tear out of the room he was waiting in backstage, he wanted to sprint out to wherever his brother was, and shove aside anyone that dared try and get in his way. He didn't know what happened, but instinctively, he wanted to run out for his brother— he wanted to do_ something _other than just stand here. He wanted to do all of those things, but he couldn't do a single one of them. It took everything in him to stay put. He knew that eventually someone would come— someone from the team would come for him, and they would tell him what happened. How there was a tiny misstep in the trick, but they'd fixed it, or Cameron did something on the fly like he had the tendency to do and it had just shocked the audience._

 _He told himself that it was fine. It had to be. The trick would keep going. When it was all over Cameron would run and give him a high-five, and smile triumphantly because Jonathan had said over and over that this whole 'Leap of Death' thing was stupid from the very beginning. He reassured himself of it over and over and over again. Trying to get the audience's screaming out of his head. Trying not to let the silence get to him. Trying to forget that there had been thirty feet of distance between Cameron and the ground. Trying to forget the rehearsal where Cameron had loudly burst out that they didn't need a safety net because nothing would go wrong in the first place, and it would just take away the thrill of the act._

 _Jonathan paced the tiny area, running his fingers through his hair and mussing it up, digging his nails down into his skull hard enough to cause pain. Nobody came. He wasn't sure what time it was. He never wore a watch during shows, it usually got in the way. And there wasn't a clock anywhere in here. His lack of knowledge just made it worse— made it feel like entire years were going by._

 _He paced and paced and only grew more agitated the longer he was left to wait. The minutes dragged by and stacked into tens. He was muttering every curse word he'd ever heard throughout the duration of his life, and he had quite the vocabulary. His hair was a complete mess, and he was thinking of every way he was going to punch Cameron when he saw his brother again, for doing something stupid and worrying him for no reason at all. He'd punch him in the face, and then he'd punch him in the stomach, and then he'd punch him in the face_ again _, and then he'd punch him in the shoulder, and then he'd punch him—_

 _The door_ finally _opened. Jonathan whirled around the second it did, and he found himself face-to-face with Dina. She looked absolutely stricken, like she'd seen a ghost. Jonathan had been on the other side of the room – granted, it still wasn't very much of a distance when the size of the room was considered – but once he realized it was her, he was rushing back towards her. She shut the door quickly behind her the same instant he stopped less than three inches away. "What in the world!?" he hissed, absolutely furious despite the low volume of his voice. She just stared at him blankly. He was focusing only on his anger, trying to ignore the look on her face and how it was making his heart pick up and stutter into panic. "Where have you been!? I've been waiting for ages, what happened!?"_

 _Despite the urgency of his questions, and the look in his eye, Dina remained silent for a moment. She just stared at him with that blank look he couldn't quite understand. She opened her mouth but said nothing. It was like her will to say something was there, it just couldn't actually come to be. Jonathan's expression began to crumble. For a second, he weakened, and a certain kind of desperation began to cloud over his face instead. Before he steeled himself and wiped it all away, taking in a quick breath and just repeating his question. "Dina!" he snapped, and she blinked fast, straightening like she was being roused from a stupor._ "What happened!?"

 _Her eyes grew shinier with tears. His heart was already dropping ten stories even before she finally choked out: "Cameron…"_

 _She stopped short there. Jonathan was tense, that desperation slowly gaining strength again. When he spoke, his voice was noticeably weaker. Quickly becoming strained._ "Cameron what!?" _She still said nothing, and he began to lose his grip, reaching out and grabbing hard to Dina's arms and starting to shake her. "Cameron_ what!?" _he snapped. "What did Cameron do!?"_

" _He fell," she croaked, the words falling out numb from her tongue. She wasn't even jarred with the shaking— she only stared at him despairingly. And that sorrow was only multiplied on itself as she saw the effects of her words. Jonathan let go of her at once, like she was too hot to the touch. His eyes rounded out in shock and panic, and he fell silent as he struggled to digest the conclusion he'd been too stubborn to make himself. He took his arms back and began to stagger away from her. Only tiny steps, because that was all he could manage. She may as well have punched him._

 _When he found his ability to speak again, his voice was flat, and nothing but a whisper. "No," he rejected, sounding more than sure. Dina weakened, and her tough front began to break. Her lower lip began to tremble, and the first tear fell. Jonathan was still shaking his head, though. "No, no he— he didn't fall," he croaked. "He didn't fall, we practiced this a million times. He could do it in his_ sleep, _he didn't fall, you're lying. Where is he?" Dina closed her eyes tightly and ducked her head down close to her chest. He repeated himself, speaking louder now. Angrier._ "Where is he!?"

" _They rushed him to the hospital," she sobbed, and the sorrow in her voice was so deep and so hollow that Jonathan's fury began to melt away. It was replaced by shock instead. He went numb with it, just staring at her. Remembering the pure fear that had been in the screams of the audience. "He fell, there was— something was wrong with the safety harness, he didn't tell any of us! One second he was— and the next— there was nothing we could do, we tried to get there in time, but it was no use, he just— the sound was—" She was choking on her words, unbale to finish a single thought. "They rushed him away, Gunter and Jordan went after him, but I had to tell you, I— I couldn't leave until you knew."_

 _Silence followed her words, swallowing up everything completely. If a pin was dropped, they would have gone deaf from the sound it made. Jonathan just stared at her as she kept crumbling. As she hid her head down in her hands and began to cry. The numb expression stayed put on his face for quite some time as he just watched her. When the numbness began to ebb, he could feel his own eyes beginning to sting, his chest beginning to constrict in panic and alarm. He looked from her to the door. Eventually, he rasped: "Was he okay?" A stupid question in its technical meaning, but she knew what he was trying to ask instead. He just couldn't get the actual words out._

 _His stomach fell away completely when the question only made her cry harder. Clearly, she'd come into this wanting to keep herself collected and composed. But everything was easier said than done, and this was no exception. "He was unconscious, and he wouldn't— he wouldn't wake up." Again, Jonathan's eyes were moving from her to the door. His throat was getting tighter, and his vision was smearing more and more. That pent-up feeling he'd had before, where he'd just wanted to run out and see everything for himself, was nearly impossible to ignore by this point. "He was— there was blood everywhere, I— the paramedics took him away before I could really—" She closed her eyes in a deep cringe. She shook her head and swallowed hard. "No, he wasn't," she answered thickly._

" _I have to see him," Jonathan muttered, starting to move for the door._

 _She looked up, her eyes going wide. Immediately, she stepped to the side. "Jonathan, you can't!"_

 _He stopped short, taken aback. In the moment, he was just confused and angry. Furious that she would keep this from him. Reality came back quickly enough, though it did nothing for his anger. In fact, it just made him glare at her._ "I have to see him," _he repeated, a little slower this time— a little harder._

" _I'm taking you back to the hotel," Dina insisted, and his scowl only deepened. "Jonathan, I know you're upset, and I know you want to see him, but you and I both know you can't. You have to come back with me. I can call you with updates, Jonathan, but you_ know _you can't go to the hospital too." She added this last part much more strained, seeing that he only got angrier and angrier. It was practically coming off him in waves. "The sooner you get back to the hotel, the sooner you can know how he's doing, please just—"_

" _Are you_ kidding _me!?" he all but spat. Dina cringed away, her lips wavering as more tears streaked down her face. Jonathan wasn't really in the mood to stop and care, though. "Cameron fell thirty feet, he's being driven to the hospital with who knows_ what _kind of injuries, and you're not going to let me go_ with _him!? You're going to keep up this stupid charade!?_ Now!?" _She didn't answer, but she didn't need to. He swept on, his own tears beginning to spill over. Though for him it was hard to tell what fueled them more: his frustration, or his sorrow. "Is that really all you can think about!? The_ act!? _He could die!" His voice splintered on this cry. Dina flinched again. "He could die, and I can't see him!?"_

 _She grimaced. "Jonathan, please…" she tried._

" _I can't believe you!" he yelled. "I'd expect something like this from the others, but_ not _from you!" She looked at him helplessly, her face wet with tears. But he wasn't in the mood for doling out sympathy. "I'm going to go see him!_ Fuck _the act!" Fuck everything. Fuck their dad for making them carry out this dumb plan in the first place and drilling it into their heads, fuck this stupid act he hadn't even wanted to do in the first place, fuck Dina for thinking she had the right to take his brother away from him, fuck Cameron for not telling anyone about the safety harness, fuck Cameron for thinking he could get away with whatever stupid_ shit _he'd thought would work instead, fuck Cameron for falling, fuck Cameron for being taken away by paramedics, fuck Cameron for being so far away, fuck Cameron for dying and leaving him here by himself and—_

" _Jonathan!" He hadn't realized how much his breathing had escalated. He was practically gasping by the time Dina was reaching out to steady him. He staggered again, and she held tighter, concern breaking through the sorrow on her face. "Jonathan, look at me," she pleaded. He did, and he realized something else that had gone unnoticed up until this point: tears were streaming down his cheeks. He hadn't even felt them, he was so preoccupied. It was difficult to keep his breath from hitching, or his expression from crumbling. It was impossible, even, as both of those things were quickly unraveling from him. "Jonathan, please," she begged, weaker now as she saw his growing distress._

 _He wanted to fight her. He wanted to scream at her, because it was that stupid. He knew it was stupid. But it was also engrained. And he knew that Cameron wouldn't want him to. Did that matter? If Cameron didn't make it, what did it matter? Didn't it matter for him to be able to see him again? Twenty-four years and they had kept this secret— now he couldn't even give it away to see his brother when he needed it the most? And yet…at the same time…wouldn't going out there anyway be admitting defeat too early? Admitting that there wasn't any hope of Cameron making it out of this? Was that even too soon a thing to consider?_

 _His thoughts were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. All at once, and yet nothing at all._

 _He didn't shrug Dina off, or snap at her. In fact, all he could do was stare at her dismally as his foundations continued to fall out from underneath him. She held his gaze and waited for his answer, but he didn't have one right now. Right now, all he had was a question. "What if he doesn't make it?" he choked. Her eyes watered with a fresh wave of tears, and his inhales only became sharper. "What if he dies?" he whispered. "…What if he dies and I'm not there with him when he does?"_

Jonathan had never lived in a small town. One of the 'blink-and-you'll-miss-it' places. He'd never once really even _been_ in one. Growing up they hadn't had a real home in general; they had the archive, of course, but they were constantly travelling so much that when the word 'home' was said, all that came to mind for him and Cameron both were mostly hotel rooms, or even dressing rooms, if you were Cameron and that one time he was so exhausted after a show he dropped like dead weight _right_ in front of Jonathan and nearly tripped him in the process. He hadn't even been awake to hear him yell at him— the second he hit the floor he was out cold. Jonathan had almost twisted his ankle. Unfortunately, that had happened more than once.

But no matter what it was, it was always big cities. Places where there would a big audience. That took small towns out of the equation. So this was an entirely new… _feeling._ It _felt_ different than anywhere else he'd been. It felt like it was an entirely separate world. Something closed off from everything else, and, if you looked at it hard enough, you might be fooled into thinking this was all there was. That none of the bustling cities that had been his entire life didn't exist. It was quiet; it was calm, it had the air of a place that didn't care at all what was taking place outside its tiny perimeter because they were so detached from it.

This town had a population somewhere around 80. Maybe 90.

But if you didn't know that number, you might think it was a population of one.

You might feel like you were the only person that existed.

Which was good. It was what he needed. It was ideal.

So…if that was true, why did he need to keep telling himself that?

He'd always wanted to be alone. When they were growing up, as they got older…it was how all siblings were. All siblings fought— they just had the luxury of walking away from those fights. They had the option of leaving the house, of taking time to themselves, of calling friends and complaining and getting someone to tell them they were in the right, that what their sibling did was ridiculous. He hadn't had that. When he and Cameron fought, they still had to practice together an hour later. When they fought he didn't have the chance to leave— the most he could do was storm off into another room and just hope Cameron didn't follow him. He didn't have anyone to talk to because the only other person that knew he existed was his father, and that was out the window.

So all the time, he'd find himself wishing it. And sometimes even _without_ the fights, the desire would cross his mind: that he just wanted to be _alone._ To _have_ that luxury other people had— to be really… _truly_ alone.

Now…

Now, he had that.

Now he was…

All alone.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _There_ you are."

She roused, turning at the voice but already weakening. Cameron had rounded the corner; now, he was standing, leaning heavily against the wall. His face was pinched over with pain; Kay could hear his shaky breathing even from where she was. She said nothing. In fact, her lips pressed together even more when their eyes met. Cameron took a second to catch his breath from the exertion it took to get all the way over here. 'All the way over' being just about halfway across the archive. They'd been in the library when Kay had left. They'd been planning— or, Cameron had been trying to persuade the others to think along his lines. A feat that was never easy when it came to the kind of ideas he had.

Cameron shook his head to clear it, and he frowned at the look on her face. "What's wrong?" She crossed her arms over her chest, ducking her head and looking down at the ground. It just made him frown even more. "…Kay?" he mumbled. She glanced at him, but still couldn't seem to get the words. Her eyes went to his arm, which was locked around his stomach like he was trying not to be sick. He was ashen and gray, and it looked like he was starting to shake. Her eyes flashed, and her lips pursed even more. He weakened. There was a long moment of silence, before he offered softly: "Kay, I'm sorry."

She looked away again. Cameron deflated even more. "I _am_ ," he pressed. "I'm…sorry for all of it. I'm sorry for…for helping her, I'm sorry for getting you into trouble. And I'm sorry for Jonathan. I tried to fix things the best I could, but…" He trailed off, grimacing. She glanced at him again, and this time she looked at him longer, pained at the expression that was on his face. At all the hurt he was holding back, and just making worse by standing there. "And I know sorry doesn't get me anywhere," he pressed, a little weaker. "I just…I'm trying to fix it. But I don't want…"

He hesitated. Before he took in a fast breath and got out: "The last thing I wanted to do was…to hurt you. I didn't want us to…" He couldn't finish the thought. At least she wasn't looking away from him, anymore. At least she was turning to face him fully. Though, depending on how you looked at it, that could be considered a bad thing as well. He had to lean more against the wall. It was hard to breathe around the stitch in his side that was only getting worse. But he tried anyway. "Are we okay? Are we…are you…?"

It was a moment before she could find her voice. Even when she did, she was sure it wasn't the right words. "You helped her." The three words were flat, and they were dull. Hollow. They made Cameron falter a little, and his hand slipped a bit on the wall. He was quick to push himself back up, though it wasn't without a horrible flinch.

The look he wore was contrite. But his voice was steady. "I didn't have a choice. And when I finally got the chance to make one for myself, I chose to do the right thing." She blinked. Looked back down at the ground. "I could have done things differently. Probably. I could have done a lot of things differently…but…I tried to do what was best for _everyone_. It didn't work out that way, but…I tried. I did the best I could." He waited for her to reply, but the most he got was her just looking back at him. She still seemed strained. He tried to edge on. "I don't…I don't want to…have this between us." The words were a little awkward. Her shoulders drooped. He tried to smile at her. But it felt weak, even to him. "We're partners…right?"

He got nothing.

Cameron's eyebrows drew together more as he looked at her. "Kay." His voice was more pleading, now. She closed her eyes. "Say _something,"_ he implored, smiling only because it was easier to try and find humor in the situation than the awkwardness and betrayal. "Tell me I'm— tell me I'm stupid, tell me I'm…the worst person you've ever had the misfortune of knowing, tell me I'm not worth the trouble I've brought you! Tell me you don't want to work with me anymore because I helped MW, tell me you're never going to trust me again, tell me that it doesn't matter what I _tried_ to do, it only matters what actually happened!" He laughed, but it was upset, and it was nervous. Frayed at the edges, and weak. " _Say_ something!" he repeated. "Let me have it!"

Still, she was quiet. Staring off to the side. Before, not even looking at him, she snapped tensely: "You scared me."

He blinked, starting to straighten but immediately stopping when the tiny movement caused pain to stab into his side and his head to spin. He had to wait for the spell to pass, but once it did, he made a face. "I _scared_ you?" he repeated. She just crossed her arms even tighter. His confusion only mounted. "How did I _scare_ you?" She didn't answer. Habitually, with this uncomfortable silence, he was attempting a joke. "You know what, that's not even fair, because you scare me on a _daily_ basis. You remember that one day I—"

"This was _different,_ Cameron." And it was the flatness of her voice and the emotion behind it that shut him up. He went silent immediately, just staring at her. She took her time but eventually went on, her voice as tense as her posture was. "You _really_ scared me," she muttered. "The second I realized you were going to be stuck in that vault, I…" She swallowed hard and shook her head. "And seeing you on the ground like that…and when your heart— it _stopped,_ Cameron, you were _dead._ And nothing we were doing was working, and I thought…" Cameron's expression was soberer now. She had to clear her throat before she went on. "And in the hospital, we thought you wouldn't even wake up— or we…thought when you did, you might not be _you,_ and nobody knew anything for sure, and…"

It was Cameron's turn to look down at the floor, this time.

Her words were frailer when she insisted: "You _scared_ me. I was _terrified_." She looked at the way he was fighting to stay upright, the sick pallor to his face. "And I'm not good at being scared," she murmured, softer with this.

Cameron wilted when he looked back at her. His voice was softer as well. "I'm…I'm fine now, though, I—"

"But you're _not_ , Cameron," she cut him off. He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. She regained some of her sternness. "You should have stayed at the hospital, you shouldn't be out here. You shouldn't be doing all of this— you're practically falling over right _now,_ and you're not even doing anything!" The more she talked, the closer she got to actually yelling. Cameron was already wincing away. "Your heart stopped, you went so long without oxygen, you have broken ribs—you need _rest,_ you need someone to make sure there's nothing else wrong, that there won't be any more complications besides these! You don't need to be out here, you don't need to be doing all this! What if something happens? What if you—?" The question died. She couldn't force it out.

Cameron answered anyway. "I'll be fine, Kay," he objected gently. "It's fine."

"You don't know that," she snapped.

He tried to take in a breath that was deeper and slower, to help collect himself. His ribs weren't exactly too keen on letting him take in too much, though. "You're right," he murmured after a pause. She looked at him, clearly upset now. He held her gaze, though. "You're right, I _don't_ know that. But what I _do_ know, is that if I don't do something – if _we_ don't do something – then Jonathan is going to make a _big_ mistake. I know that I won't be able to help my brother, if I don't find him or help him find _me."_ She said nothing, but some of the fire left her expression. Her arms relaxed down to her sides. "I'll go back to the hospital as _soon_ as I fix this. As _soon_ as I find Jonathan. But until then…I _have_ to do this, Kay. I can't let him get into trouble because of me— not again."

She looked at him dismally. But his stare stayed earnest. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he apologized. "I'm sorry for _everything._ I _am._ But I need to do this." He paused, before he added slower: "And…I really want us to be okay again." Her eyes tracked him as he shifted, grimacing against another stab of pain and moving to lean even more against the wall. He shook it off, trying to focus. "I really would like my partner's help," he revised, his expression managing to warm, even against the agony.

Kay was silent, inwardly debating. Staring at him with a look that was far too complicated to try and piece apart. For a moment, Cameron was under the impression she would say no. His heart was already sinking— his disappointment was already beginning to burn under his skin. Before she gave a tiny nod and relented. "Okay," she murmured, and at once, Cameron was lighting up. He grinned widely, and he could have sworn Kay was trying to fight her own smile, at the immediate reaction. Maybe that was too optimistic. At the very least, some of the tension melted off her shoulders. Some of her nerves seemed to fade, and she seemed the smallest bit lighter. Though she still eyed Cameron warily as he clung to the wall.

"There we go— now we're back in business!" Kay shook her head. In her same old 'Why-Do-I-Put-Up-With-You' shake that Cameron was well-acquainted with by now, and had decided, at this point, to take it as a token of affection. And the look of half-irritated indulgence only grew more apparent on Kay's face when he stood with difficulty, reaching out with his good arm and grasping at the air like a little kid might do when they were trying to reach a toy. "Now let me steal from you," he cheered.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _He was going insane. Every second felt like a minute. Every minute felt like an hour. So on and so forth. The very instant they'd managed to get back to the hotel, Dina was leaving. She was spouting apologies and promising she would call him with news, but she was leaving him behind. Putting the 'Do Not Disturb' up on the door, the needed detail every time either of them were left behind in the room for anything, she had practically sprinted back out the way she'd come, leaving Jonathan behind with nothing to do but sit and wait for something to come to him._

 _He'd always been horrible at waiting. He was better than Cameron, that was for sure. If you told Cameron to wait just_ five minutes _for a surprise, he would already be whining and complaining before you could even finish your sentence. Jonathan had the title of 'More Mature Twin' and with that came the better sense of patience. Usually he was telling Cameron to calm down or stop fidgeting or stop asking when they would be done waiting because they had about three more hours to go, to which he'd fling his head back and groan like it was the world's biggest inconvenience. But now he was taking up the role. Now he was climbing the walls, he was pacing back and forth across the room. He was burning from the inside out._

 _He was trying to keep himself in check, but it was like he was trying to force a lid to stay on top of a too-full pot that was beginning to boil over. He would have been handling himself better, but it had been hours. And with every passing hour, it only got worse. His hands were shaking, his thoughts were racing. He sat on the bed, paced around the room, sat at the desk, all the while trying to force himself to sleep and only managing a couple hours at a time. He watched the clock and watched as dull light began to peek through the curtains. Slowly, ever so slowly, going crazier and crazier._

 _The very second the phone rung, he was answering it. It barely was through with its second ring, and he yanked it to his ear. He'd been trying to sleep more, because it was nearly night again and he had still only managed a small handful of hours here and there. He was dozing off and almost able to actually fall asleep, when the ring had snapped him back aware. Despite this, Jonathan jerked up immediately and yanked his phone up to his ear. "Hello!?" he all but snapped. "Hello!?"_

" _Jonathan." Dina's voice was strange to hear. He'd never heard her this way before— choked and weak and congested. And scratchy, like she was losing her voice. In the fact of it he wasn't sure what to say. So there was a beat of silence before she went on. "Jonathan, I'm so sorry, I meant to come back, I was— I know there's not much to eat there, and I'm sorry, it's just been a mess, it—"_

" _I don't care about that!" he snapped, and immediately he regretted the sharper tone he'd slipped into. He cringed, shaking his head as he ducked it low to his chest. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm— just tell me how he is." He lost everything with the request. All the energy left him. He opened his eyes and stared at the blankets of the hotel bed through blurry vision. "Just tell me how he is, Dina," he repeated, and he sounded much more clenched when he had to repeat himself. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead. "You can tell me something, right? He's alright now? You've been there all day, he's— he's fine now, right?"_

 _There was a very long pause, and he hated what it sounded like. He cringed, already deflating in disappointment over what he knew she was struggling to get out. He found himself immediately switching gears. Not hoping for the best, but pleading for the worst-case scenario not to be true. 'Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please still be here, please, please, please…' "He's in intensive care," Dina croaked eventually, and at once his eyes snapped back open. It wasn't much. But it was something. Cameron was intensive care, but he was alive. "The…doctors haven't been able to tell us what the outlook is, it's…we've only seen him once and it was only a glimpse. He…"_

 _Jonathan was staring intently, not even blinking. He knew the second he blinked, all the tears would start rushing down his cheeks, and he didn't want that right now. He would do it when he hung up with Dina. But right now, he had to keep himself composed. Though he couldn't ignore the swelling in his throat when she continued, sounding even weaker. "His…he has so many broken bones. His ribs, his hips, his leg, his…shoulder, he's still in surgery again right now— but Jonathan, the instant he got here, he—" She broke off and this time the silence was too long. He couldn't wait through it._

"What!?" _he all but yelled._

" _His heart!" the reply was sharp and pained, and just reflexively spit out, when he snapped at her. Jonathan jerked backwards, like she'd slapped him. Horror froze itself over his face. He nearly dropped the phone; his grip went so slack. Somehow, he managed to keep it by his ear. But he was more than sure he was going to throw up when he listened to her go on. He could tell she was on the same exact threshold, though. "His…we weren't told a lot, because there wasn't time. But there was…it was…something_ ruptured _, they said. They said he— because of the way he fell, and how high it was, he…barley made it in the first place, and they're not sure if he's strong enough to—"_

" _He's strong enough," Jonathan spat, before she was even through. He scowled at the very implication he wouldn't be— he was_ livid _at it. "He's strong enough, don't you_ dare _say that." It was getting harder and harder to hide the fact he was crying now, but at this point he didn't really care enough to try and keep up the charade. "Don't— don't say it, don't— you can't say that. You can't." His words got smaller and smaller. Less and less coherent the more there were. There was a dead silence to meet his command, and he sniffed, rubbing his forehead and trying to take in a slower, more controlled breath. He thought of his brother alone in some hospital room. He thought of what would happen when he_ was _allowed visitors. How the team would be with him, but Jonathan wouldn't. Couldn't. "Don't say it," he pleaded weakly, after what felt like forever. "Don't say he's not strong enough…"_

 _Dina continued her silence. Before: "…You're right. I'm sorry."_

 _Jonathan sniffed again, feeling like his own heart was going to stop beating. Like it was in too much pain to. "Don't come back here," he ordered. The confusion was unspoken, but it was clear. He went on before she could ask. "Don't come back here, I want you to— don't leave his side. When you can. And call me if anything happens— if_ anything _happens. Please."_

" _Jonathan, I can just run there and—"_

" _Promise me you'll stay with him!" he yelled, cutting her off. He felt his tears well over now, but he didn't care anymore. "Promise me you won't leave him!_ Promise _you'll be there for him!"_

 _She took her time to deliver the vow. When she did, it was hardly audible. "We won't leave him."_

 _Jonathan closed his eyes in a cringe. He took in a shaking breath. And though he tried to make his voice brighter, it was still much too teary and congested once it came to be. "Good," he croaked. "…Good."_

There was a payphone. The town was _so_ archaic there was actually still a payphone— a bit rusted and unused, but standing. Granted, New York still had payphones. But that was because the city was so bustling— so crowded and busy and all-at-once. In this situation, it seemed more appropriate to assume the only reason the phone was still there was simply because the town had _forgotten_ it was there. That, or they didn't find the need to do anything with it. He wondered if it worked. He wondered if he could call anyone.

He could call Dina— his mind went to her, first. He could call her and ask what was happening…ask her what was _going_ to happen, from here. Not that he didn't already know the answer to that. Mostly, he just wanted to hear her voice. Hear _someone's_ voice he actually recognized. And she was always the kindest of the group…though that might be his own personal bias getting in the way of things. It was tempting, and it was the first thing that went through his mind when his eyes caught on it. He almost caved.

But he couldn't. He kept going.

The second he called Dina, this entire thing would be over. And it _couldn't_ be over. Not when he hadn't finished it yet.

And for it keep going, he needed two things. One of which had to come before the other.

If he was going to get them, it was best to get them _here_. Somewhere as nondescript and closed-off as he could manage to find. It was his best bet, anyway. Taking in all his gambles up to now and their results, that didn't really amount to very much. But by this point, bets were the only thing Jonathan still had. So he kept going, putting everything else out of his mind and just focusing on the task at hand. The town was tiny— so tiny that it looked like it only had one really big general store. But he recognized the name— it was one of those cheap Family Dollar stores he'd only been in about once or twice. There was only one of them around where they lived. And when it came to shopping, Cameron tended to camp out at Target and practically _hiss_ at even the _mention_ of going anywhere else.

At first, the memory caused a tiny smile to tug at the edge of Jonathan's lips. As he remembered Cameron throwing down about a million different Target bags in front of him after getting home and demanding he smell the six different candles he'd bought because "There was a sale." It made his chest warm, it made his eyes soften. But it was quick to wash away, and when it did, and when his face fell again, he was left feeling even hollower. Emptier. He ducked his head underneath the weight of the emotion, which was just as good, because at that same moment he was crossing over the threshold of the store.

It was a decent-sized place. Enormous, really, when you compare it to the town it was located in. Or, at least, these people probably thought it was huge. And Jonathan's faint recollection of being in a store like this previously was proven right: it had a small sample of basically anything you might need. Which made sense, considering this was just about the only store in the whole area. Jonathan kept his head down as he walked, but in glancing up every now and then, he could see that there wasn't too much reason to. Yet. There were three cashiers, all busy checking someone out. All of them were wrapped up in a conversation with the customer, too distracted to even notice him when he slipped in. He could hear the scattered bits of each conversation as he walked.

"Do you think so? I just got it cut this way, I wasn't sure…"

"Did you hear about Mary and Paul? I _know!_ I never would have thought!"

"How is Emily doing? Is she still having problems with fractions?"

They all knew each other. They were all more than friendly, more than invested. Engrossed in each other and their everyday lives, so, at least for now, Jonathan could skirt around the edges of their bubble and go unnoticed. He knew it was a fine line to walk. He knew that the basic fact that he _wasn't_ familiar could attract attention. He knew he had to be careful. So he quickened his pace a bit and ducked into the nearest aisle he could, to get out of sight. There weren't too many other people in the store. He got a few glances as he walked by, but nothing major, especially when he kept going. He told himself over and over again not to get comfortable, or too at ease. He wasn't _that_ far away from New York. A small town like this was his best bet, but at the same time, there was still a risk of someone recognizing him. At the very least, he could pretend to be Cameron again, but…

He didn't want to do that. If he could avoid it.

He kept walking. Skirting through the aisles so that he avoided as many people as possible. It didn't take long at all for him to find what he was looking for. There was a whole shelf, and he frowned, trying to just pick one that would be good enough. He really didn't care, he just needed _something._ He was just about to reach out and get one, when there was a voice behind him. "Are you dyeing your hair?" He stiffened and turned, a little bit too harshly, to see the woman who had just veered into the same aisle as him. Her smile turned a bit awkward when he did, but her expression and her voice alike were friendly. He didn't answer her at first; he just stared. Her smile turned even more awkward. She nodded at the box he was currently stretching his hand out to. "You're changing to black?"

He blinked a couple times. Looked between her, and the box, and he snapped himself out of it. He grabbed it and brought it the rest of the way back. "Uh…yeah," he offered. "I figured it was…time for a change." The words fell a little flat, even to him. He started to give her a tiny nod and duck away, when she was speaking again, and he had to stop. He trained his gaze more towards the ground, so she wouldn't see his frustration.

"That's too bad," she remarked, her grin turning a bit sheepish. "You look good with brown hair."

He smiled again, trying not to let his impatience show. "Thanks."

He tried to leave a second time, and for a second time, she stopped him. "I'm Katie," she blurted out, and Jonathan gritted his teeth to keep back his groan. He waited, knowing there was more. Sure enough, she still kept smiling at him. Still kept wringing her hands, like she was nervous. "I'm— I'm sorry, don't I…?" His irritation leaked away a little. His forced smile dropped. "But don't I know you?" she asked. He said absolutely nothing. She kept talking, just to fill the silence. "I'm sorry, I just— you look _so_ familiar, for some reason, and I just can't…put my finger on where I know you from." He stayed mute. Her eyebrows drew together. "We've met before, right? I'm _positive_ I've seen you somewhere."

Jonathan took his time debating on how to answer. Before he made a face and shook his head. "Not that I can remember." Her face fell. "Must be…one of those faces, I guess," he tried. She didn't seem so sure. He cleared his throat and began to turn, but she stopped him.

"Hang on…did you go to West Center?" she asked.

Jonathan hesitated, but after a moment offered: "Yeah."

She grinned. "That must be it," she declared. "I did too! I was on the cheerleading squad."

He nodded again a couple times. "I was on the football team."

Her smile just kept growing. "Yeah…yeah, that's gotta be where I know you from! I remember seeing you a couple times." People were idiots. It was a general fact Jonathan had learned growing up – call him cynical and the _very_ opposite of his brother – but all the same. She was only further cementing the theory. "I'm so sorry, I…I forgot your name." She sounded genuinely upset over the blunder.

It was getting harder and harder to keep his smile going. "Jack."

Apparently, this was her final nail in the coffin. The coffin that didn't even exist in the first place. "Jack!" Her voice turned warm immediately, and Jonathan glanced off to the side. "I remember now! I haven't seen you in a while— well, I don't really see too many people from school anymore, a lot of them moved away." Jonathan didn't blame them. It would probably only take fifteen minutes to walk from one side of this place to the other. "Are you…just visiting, or…?" He nodded, and so did she. "That's— that's great! It's good to see you again." Jonathan nodded again, and he started to duck away. She stumbled out a bit to stop him. "Uh—" Inwardly, he was seething. "A lot of…people usually go to the bar down the road from here, on Friday nights. Around eight, you should— come, if you want. There's not too many people left from school, but there's a good handful. I'll be there," she added, more sheepishly. "It…might be fun. There's not too much else to do around here," she giggled.

He nodded, still backing away. "Maybe."

She still wore that dumb smile. "I'll look out for you," she promised.

He didn't react to this one; he just turned and started to actually walk away. Slipping the hair dye out of the box and heading the opposite way, trying not to roll his eyes.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"It's not like there's a lot of places he could go," Dina piped up, pained as her eyes flickered over the map they'd spread out in front of them. They were all standing around the table, marking the spots Kay had known him to be suspected in last and trying to go on from there. Or…the others were standing. Cameron had been forced to sit in one of the chairs, his legs unable to keep supporting him, they were so shaky. Now he was hunched over, pale and shaking as he kept all his pain narrowed down to just a grimace. He was holding a lot back, but it was painfully clear by the way Dina and Kay especially kept glancing at him that it didn't matter so much.

He felt Dina's worried stare go to him again once she was through saying this, but he shoved it out of his mind. He just forced himself to sit forward a little more, so he could see the map better. So far there didn't seem to be a pattern; all the dots were just everywhere. Like Jonathan was just seeing how far and how pointlessly he could possibly drive before the police caught up with him. Which was _dumb,_ but it would be something Cameron would gladly take over what he was _actually_ doing.

"He's stalling," he croaked, his voice clenched tight with pain that shook under every word. Dina's eyes flashed again, and Kay weakened significantly as she took in his every detail. "He left without a plan— this is him just _making_ one." Johnny never _didn't_ have a plan. He always had _something._ And if he didn't, he was quick to conjure something seemingly out of thin air. And this had just been the last Kay had known, or what she'd managed to worm out from Mike. "I mean, if he's really going after MW, he's just as clueless as we are about how to find her."

"Is that supposed to make us feel better?" Gunter demanded dryly.

Cameron shot him a look, not quite as inclined to joke around as much. The pain was beginning to get to him, and he had a high tolerance. His voice was thin and tight when he replied. "When you consider the two ways this situation could play out— yeah." He took in a slow breath and flinched as he shook his head. "The two _main_ ways this could end, is _he_ finds her, or she goes out and finds _him_ first. Given that the police don't track him down themselves." Which would be one of the more best case scenarios, honestly, but whatever.

Gunter kept eyeing him. "Still waiting for the 'good news' part."

Cameron huffed. "It means no matter where Jonathan is right now, he's _going_ to have to come back here. He won't have any other choice. So when he _does,_ we can be waiting for him. Someone will be _here,_ in case he comes here first, and the rest of us can find him. Some of us can stay in the city, some of us can even go a little way out, in case we can catch him earlier than that."

"You seem awfully sure," Gunter remarked. "What makes you think he'll come back _here?_ This is where he ran _away_ from."

"And it's where he's been staying in the _vicinity_ of," Cameron retorted. "Obviously he doesn't have an actual place in mind to go— and why _would_ he? If he left to go after MW, New York is the _best_ bet he has. It's practically the _only_ bet he has. Unless he wants to road trip the entirety of the United States, and I don't think that's on his to-do list at the moment." He had to stop and swallow hard, grimacing and ducking his head against a pain sharp in his side. He forced his head back up, though, having to concentrate in order to take a deeper breath. It stung just a much to do that. "MW is _here—_ she is _in New York._ So we have to stay in New York too; or at least a majority of us do. You can think about it whichever way you want, but basically our goals are to find Jonathan, or to keep MW from getting _killed_ ; if we do one, we do the other."

"Why would she still be here?" Jordan asked. "How can you be sure?"

"Because she didn't get her diamond." Cameron had started to open his mouth to say the same exact thing, but Kay beat him to it. He turned to her as she spoke. She continued speaking to Jordan, but she held his gaze when she did. "Cameron didn't steal it for her like she needed— it's with FBI now. If she went to all that trouble in the first place to get it, she's not going to give it up without any kind of fight. And she certainly wouldn't _leave_ without it. Not without at least trying to get it back."

Cameron nodded. He tore his gaze away from her and looked at the others. And he reached into his jacket pocket, to produce a slim card. Kay's eyes flashed when he did, but she said nothing. "The only way to get something that's in FBI custody is to _be_ in the FBI. _But,_ since she's _not,_ and she doesn't really have a couple years on hand to spend _getting into_ it…she's smart enough to go for the next best thing: swiping the credentials. She gets this card, she gets the diamond. She might pin us as likely to having one, especially when Kay's here with us, and if she does, and if she knows _I_ have it especially, she won't waste any time at all before she tries to get it. We can catch her that way."

" _Or_ all of this is for nothing, MW ran off just like Jonathan did, and we're just sitting here wasting time and not finding him," Gunter offered.

Cameron held his head in his hands. He had a splitting headache. "If you wanna drive through New Jersey, all the around Pennsylvania, check out Delaware, and then hop over to Maryland and not even be a _fraction_ of the way done looking at any place Jonathan _could_ be, then by all means, _please_ go ahead. And bring me back a snow globe from every state you come up empty in; we can start a shelf," he added in more of a grumble. "I know it's not the best plan— if I could run out there and find him right this second, I _would._ But that wouldn't be the smartest thing to do, and it wouldn't get us to him in the long run."

He took in a slow breath, and his next words came out with much more purpose. "We _can't_ outthink Jonathan. We can't outrun him, and we can't outtrick him. I've known him my entire life— I know how impossible that is to do." Cameron paused, thinking, before he shook his head and tapped Kay's security card on the table. "This is the best option we have. It's not the one we _want,_ but it's the one we have to take. We find Jonathan, or we find MW. We tried to get Jonathan's attention. And I _know_ I can get hers."

Nobody said anything. Gunter didn't argue this time. Cameron nodded a little bit. "Gunter, Jordan— you can go out and look for him. He might already be here…or he might be coming back. Just don't go too far." They glanced at one another, but didn't object. "Dina, Kay and I will figure out what else to do."

The pair started to separate from the rest of the group. Dina glanced at Cameron again, and he silently pleaded for her not to say what he knew she would. But his prayers went unanswered. "You should be the one to stay here," she murmured. She rushed on when she saw the objection that was already building on his tongue. "You need to _rest_ , Cameron; you look like you're going to keel over. You're worrying me. It makes sense for Jonathan to come back here first— and you can be here when he does! The instant he sees you, he'll—"

"I can't stay here," Cameron interrupted.

Her eyes narrowed. "Where are you going to go?"

He didn't answer. His jaw just locked back as he stared straight ahead. He was gnashing his teeth against the pain so hard that his head was throbbing even more than it had been before, which he didn't even think was possible. "I'll be fine," he said instead, his tone a little harsher than he intended it to be. He pushed himself away from the table and started to force himself up to his feet. "I already said: once we find Jonathan I'll go back to the hospital, but until then I…until…I need to—" His words cut off into a confused mumble as his head spun the moment he got up. He staggered, trying to reach out with one arm for the table as he felt his knees start to buckle. He still kept trying to talk, but his words were slurring together. "I…needto…ffff—"

Dina rushed out and caught him at the last second. She grabbed onto his arms and pushed him back upright, having to hold him there, because his legs had suddenly lost all of their strength. Kay was running to help as well, and between the two of them they could hold him up. Cameron's vison had fuzzed out into black the entire time; he hadn't heard their startled cries. He _did_ feel the agony as he was shoved back to stand, though. It stabbed through him and a muffled cry yanked itself out of his mouth. His eyes had started to roll back into his head; he'd started to fell tingly and numb. But everything was leaking back to him slowly, now. He just tried to breathe around everything, but his inhales and exhales were trembling after the spell.

"…need to lay down, Cameron," Dina was insisting, when his hearing came back. A mumble of objection was trying to get out, but she wouldn't have it. " _Cameron,_ you are _going_ to rest, you aren't going anywhere. We'll take care of everything, darling, you need to sleep." Her voice was hard and angry, only getting more so with his stubbornness. He staggered, trying to get his legs to listen to him so he could step away from the two and straighten up all his own. But he only got out a tiny stumble before his head was spinning and he nearly fell a second time. Again, Kay and Dina were the only reasons he didn't. "Cam…still be…when you wake up—" He couldn't even understand what Dina was saying.

"Don't…stupid, Cameron," Kay was agreeing, but he missed a piece of that one, too.

"'m'fine, I…'st need…t'…" Cameron's lips barely moved. He was just getting dizzier. His vision was just getting darker. Someone said something else, but he didn't know who it was, and he didn't know what they said. His head was dipping forward like he was nodding off, and his legs slowly got even more useless, bending and going limp underneath his weight. He heard them continue to talk, their voices distant and incoherent, like they were at the end of a long tunnel. He felt them start to move, felt himself being carried between them like a ragdoll.

He tried to object again. He tried to fight. He tried to yank himself back, so he could go out and find Jonathan before it was too late.

But before he could do any of that, the last bit of blackness slammed over his vision.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _How is he?" Jonathan breathed, still scared to ask, no matter how many times he had already._

" _He's— he's alright," Jordan returned. Jonathan could hear the beeping of the heart monitor in the background of the other line. Every chirp hurt. "There haven't been any scares, he…he's been the…_ most stable _he's been, I think. Just sleeping. So that's something!"_ Most _stable. That wasn't even saying much at all. All week had been absolute hell. Jonathan would wake up with a jerk to a ringing phone and a panicked voice telling him that Cameron was taken away again, that there was_ another _code blue, that they'd found something else wrong. Today being quiet was wildly out of the ordinary. There was no actual progress made – he was still in just as critical a state – but at least there weren't steps being taken backwards. Which was a breed of progress in itself._

" _It's sad he hasn't woken up yet because he'd be so happy he's getting so much attention," Jordan tried to joke. It ended a little hollowly, and it started off weak in the first place. He sounded exhausted. They all did. Five days, and none of them had left the hospital. When they did, it was only one by one, so that there were always two people with Cameron. They left to take showers, to get food, to get_ Jonathan _food, to try and fend off the reporters and the paparazzi who were struggling desperately to sink their teeth into what was going on. Sometimes they tried to sit with Jonathan and keep him company, but he always ended up being the one to tell them to leave. He could see their fidgeting, their concern. He felt it himself. He just didn't have the luxury they did of getting up and going back._

 _And Jonathan? He'd paced a rut into the floor of this stupid suite. He'd walked around it in every way possible to try and pace out some of his worry. He'd laid in every position on the bed to try and get comfortable enough to sleep, he'd walked every kind of lap around the suite that was possible, he tried watching every channel on the TV. Nothing worked— all he could think of was Cameron, and how he couldn't get to him._

" _He hasn't reacted to any of you?" Jonathan pressed weakly._

 _Jordan paused, and for a second, he was stupid enough to hope that he would think of something. But his stomach fell away when he replied. "No, not at all. He's just unconscious. We talk to him. The doctors…say he might be able to hear us, you know? And just not be able to do anything. But nothing ever happens. He's…in pretty bad shape." The statement was awkward just because it was so obvious and so much of an understatement, too. Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe right. "The nurse…said his heart was doing much better today. They said it was…they said it was in the normal ranges, for once!"_

 _Jonathan took in a slow breath, looking down at his lap. "That's…that's great," he said weakly. The words empty._

 _Jordan weakened too. "Jonathan…I'm sorry," he murmured._

 _He closed his eyes when he felt them start to burn. By now they ached all the time, he was rubbing them so much. He was surprised he wasn't dehydrated— or maybe he was. His throat felt like someone was shoving an iron down it, and his voice was mangled and choked when it managed to get out. "I just want to be there," he cried. Usually he was worried about the way he looked. Which was weird, when you really thought about it, because he only existed to four people on this entire planet. Why care about your looks so much when only four people were there to judge? At the same time, maybe that's exactly_ why _he cared so much. But whatever the reason, he did. He was always the cool one, always the level-headed one, always collected and always thinking rationally. Always a step ahead of everyone else, and the one to rely on when you really needed to._

 _Now he was the exact opposite. He was scared, and he was worried, and he was paranoid. And he couldn't stop, no matter how much he wanted to. But he also didn't care. He wasn't thinking about himself. He was so far from his own mind, it wasn't even registering that Jordan was listening to him cry. "I just want to be there," he repeated, his shoulders beginning to shake on held-back sobs. His lips trembled, and he leaned over to hold his head in his free hand as he pulled the phone closer to his ear. Jordan was silent, simply listening. "I just want to be there for him, I want to see him, I_ need _to see him. I need to be there if he—" He couldn't finish the thought, but it was horribly obvious._

 _Jordan continued his silence. He was quiet for ages, which Jonathan spent trying not to make it_ too _obvious he was beginning to break down. After this silence, though, Jordan's voice sounded a little odder. Brighter. Like how it did whenever he thought of a new way to do a trick, or solved a problem with the lighting onstage. Already, the tone of voice had Jonathan picking his head back up. But at the words that were carried through, his heart practically stopped. "Maybe…you can," Jordan proposed._

Jonathan stared into the mirror. There was no expression on his face as he studied himself— as he moved and looked down at the sink. He'd gone to the bathroom located at the back of a gas station – it wouldn't surprise him if it was the only gas station in the entire town – and locked the door, making sure no one else could get in. That had been an hour ago. Or, at least, almost an hour. Long enough that he knew he had to get out soon, because it was a miracle nobody had even knocked on the door yet, trying to get in. Though, at the same time, he figured there wasn't a high influx of traffic through here anyway.

The sink had been white before – or, as white a gas station bathroom sink could be – but now it was stained a dark black. He turned and yanked out a handful of paper towels, turning the water back on and starting the effort to hopefully scrub it all off. He didn't have very much experience dyeing hair. Putting on disguises, fixing his hair into different styles, things like that— he was well-versed in those. But hair dye was hardly ever used; it was too permeant. Actual dye, and there couldn't be any shows for months, unless Cameron dyed it too, and by then, what was the point?

It was a fairly straightforward thing. But he knew it didn't look nearly as good as if Dina had done it. He'd gotten some smeared on his neck— not a lot, but enough to see if you knew where to look. She'd call it sloppy, and probably yell at him for ruining his hair in the first place. It hurt, to think about. To think about her and wonder what she was doing right now. He tried to brush it away…tried to wipe it aside like he was wiping the dye off the porcelain now. None of it mattered. All that mattered was his hair was at least a different color. That at least he'd managed to get a different outfit – a more casual one, something he didn't usually wear – and ditch his old clothes.

He knew it wasn't a lot. He knew that it wasn't the best disguise he could have…but he also knew that it was better than just a hat tucked low over his head. It was at least a step in the right direction. He found he was taking a lot of those, now. The 'at least's. The bare minimum. At least he was still flying under the radar. At least he was still scraping by. At least the dye was coming off, and the only lingering effects of the rushed procedure would be solely in his hair. At least he would look a little bit different.

At least now, when he looked back up at himself, he didn't feel like Cameron was staring right back at him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _Jonathan followed Dina blindly, because he had no idea where they were going at all. He was no help when it came to directions, but he couldn't help but be impatient at the pace she was setting. They were going so_ slow. _What floor was the ICU on anyway? Why were they taking the elevator, why couldn't they take the stairs? It would go by so much faster! Currently they were waiting for the elevator to even come. Jonathan was shifting back and forth and stuffing his hands into his pockets only to take them right back out afterwards and then do it all over again. She softened. "You're almost there," she reassured him, sensing the obvious frustration. He looked at her but said nothing. This elevator was the slowest thing ever put on this earth._

 _She paused, pursing her lips. She glanced around fleetingly to check the area, but nobody was paying them any mind for the moment. Which was good, because coming in Dina had practically been hounded by all the people that were outside. It wasn't like she needed to do so, but anxiety was holding quite the place in her heart as of late. So she leaned in closer and checked in a whisper:_ "Remember, _you're—"_

" _An old friend," Jonathan hissed back. She decided to ignore the tone and just appreciate that he'd committed it to memory. "Adam Jones, I took so long because I had to arrange my work and take time off, I had to come here all the way from Oregon,_ I know _." He rolled his eyes and looked away. "This is so stupid," he grumbled, mostly to himself. It had taken all morning for Dina to scrounge up the disguise. But she'd done a very good job. And there were no holds barred. They had dyed Jonathan's hair in the hotel sink, making it jet black. She'd styled it differently and given him jeans and a button-up. She'd set to work with makeup and prosthetics and hours later, he was ready to test it out against the unsuspecting hospital, coming off as someone completely different._

 _Lo and behold, they hadn't gotten caught yet._

 _The elevator finally came, and Jonathan practically threw himself into it. Dina followed and pressed the number four button. The doors slid closed and they started up. She looked at him a little worriedly and began to broach the subject with a certain kind of hesitation. "It's…not an easy thing," she warned. He perked and turned, looking at her oddly. She shook her head. "Being with him. It's not easy. To see him like this. I just…wanted to let you know. Before you go in." He almost had half a mind to snap at her. After all, what did she know about their relationship? They hadn't been working together very_ long. _But here she was, acting like she was an expert._

 _But something about the way she looked at him rendered him mute. Not to mention she had just spent the entire day trying to make it possible for him to be with Cameron finally. He couldn't yell at her. He couldn't bring himself to. He just swallowed back whatever he was going to say and nodded. She mimicked the gesture, and they both looked back front at the same time, just in time to see the doors open for them again. Dina started out, and once again Jonathan just followed her. The ICU was shaped like a horseshoe around the nurse's station, so that each nurse could always sit and have a view of their patients. A few of them smiled at the pair in welcome as they walked by. He could tell that by now, they were well acquainted with Dina._

 _Eventually she stopped at a room and slid open the glass door. Jonathan saw Gunter and Jordan inside first. Jordan was standing at the side of the bed, and when he turned, he shifted enough to show what he'd been blocking before. Immediately, Jonathan's stomach dropped. He staggered for a moment, like he'd forgotten how to move, or function. But after a second, he walked the rest of the way inside. Dina closed the door behind him. Jordan stepped aside, and Jonathan took his place, looking down at the bed in shocked horror._

 _Dina hadn't been lying. Just_ looking _at Cameron turned Jonathan's stomach. Caused horrible fear to wash over him, chilling him to the bone and sucking all the warmth and breath out of his body. His brother was covered in ugly, garish bruises and lacerations. It looked like he'd broken every bone in his entire body. He was connected to way too many monitors, all of which were keeping track of things Jonathan couldn't even decipher. He was intubated— he wasn't even breathing for himself. He couldn't even_ breathe. _Looking at him, Jonathan was afraid he would actually get sick. He was afraid he would scream, because he felt it bottling up in the back of his throat. He was afraid he would pass out. Thankfully, none of that happened. He just stared dismally, feeling like his entire world was crashing down around him._

 _Because it practically was._

It was cold. It was _really_ cold. Jonathan hadn't had a coat with him when he and Kay had gone to the auction, and up through everything afterwards, he hadn't even really registered the temperature _too_ much. But now his teeth were chattering, and he was shivering. He was standing hunched over, like it would help him to conserve warmth he didn't even have anymore. He was loitering, despite the cold, he knew. He was standing across the street, not hesitating, exactly…but not moving, either. Not walking ahead and going inside. He didn't know why.

Or maybe he did.

'Don't do it. You're making it worse. You're making this _entire_ situation worse. Just _stop._ '

He couldn't. He couldn't stop now.

'Yes you _can,_ you can stop, and you can go back _home._ I don't want you to do this, you _know_ I wouldn't want you to do this.'

 _He_ didn't want Cameron to be dead. _That_ hadn't mattered…why should this?

His eyes picked their way through the parking lot outside the bar, and the cars that were lined up along the curb. They stopped and lingered on one car in particular. They flashed, as they trained onto the police cruiser, and after a moment he glanced back to the building. He didn't loiter for much longer. He forced himself to move. He walked across the street – save for the bar hardly any of the buildings even had their lights on anymore – and he sidled in. He had heard a little bit of it before he stepped over the threshold, but once he did, it hit full-force. All the talking and laughing and music that was being played.

It was a fairly decent-sized bar for such a small town. It had all the staples you'd equate with a stereotypical bar setting. The neon signs on the wall, the wood-paneled walls. There was a pool table in the back that already had itself a crowd, and everyone else was just scattered around, talking to people in that same overly-personal way that the cashiers had been speaking to the customers at the store earlier. Like everyone was a close friend. It was an alienating kind of feeling, being alone in the middle of something like this. The realization of this caused a certain kind of hollowness to gouge into his chest. Making it hard to breathe.

He stayed on the outskirts of it for a few moments, getting his bearings. It took him a moment to leave the irrational emotion and actually focus enough to remember why he was there. He turned and started to pick through the crowd. It didn't take long to find him— the only one here wearing a uniform. The police officer was talking to the bartender, laughing over something he was saying. He wasn't drinking anything. Yet. Maybe he was just off his shift, maybe he was taking a break, maybe he was staying here for the time being— Jonathan didn't know, but the thing was he didn't really care. It wasn't important.

'Turn _around._ Go _back._ Don't be an _idiot.'_

He looked through the crowd again, his eyes narrowing more in thought. He pieced through every person, still tucked away in the entryway. He was _good_ at reading people. You had to be, as a magician. You had to know how to read your crowd. More specifically, you had to know how to pick out the weakest person in one. You had to know who the right participant was to yell "Come on down!" to. You couldn't pick a skeptic— if they were eyeing you oddly, if they weren't smiling from ear-to-ear, you had to know to stay away from that one, because they would only attempt to slow the show down. You had to find the one that was perfect for what you needed. You needed to know which person was best: which person was grinning, was fighting to see better, was loudly gasping at every trick you did. _That_ was the person you needed. That you wanted to pick out. You had to be able to do that.

Or, in Jonathan's case…

There. Over near the other corner of the bar. A group of guys that, out of everyone gathered here, had obviously been here the longest. They were talking the loudest, being the bawdiest. A number of empty bottles were on the table that they were sitting at. They'd probably had enough to drink but they hadn't been cut off just yet. He started making his way towards them. He glanced again quickly in the police officer's direction; he was still caught up in whatever conversation he was in. And when he turned back, he saw one of the men start to get up from the table. He proceeded to walk even faster, not missing this window.

The man stood and started to head for the bathroom. But as Jonathan walked past, he sidestepped just a little bit to the side, putting force behind his shoulder as it ended up ramming hard into the stranger's. So hard it nearly knocked him off-balance, but, at the same time, that wasn't saying much, considering he was pretty wasted. And sure enough, Jonathan felt a grim tug of satisfaction when the man whirled around to glare at him. "Watch where you're _going!"_ he snapped. And he might have left the situation there, had Jonathan not stopped and turned around.

"Maybe _you_ should watch where _you're_ going," he retorted. There was no fire in his voice. It was empty, and dull, just like the expression on his face. And it didn't change when he got the reaction he wanted: the flare of anger. The others at the table were already looking at him with confusion and hostility. Jonathan just looked his target up and down, clearly unimpressed by all accounts. "Think you can manage that?" he grumbled.

The man's scowl twisted even more. "I don't know who the _fuck_ you think you are," he spat. Jonathan didn't even blink. "But _you_ bumped into _me."_ It was _his_ turn to look Jonathan up and down. His frown just grew more severe. "I've never even _seen_ you before."

"Well, if you learned to look past your own ego I'm sure you'd realize there's a _lot_ of things you haven't noticed," Jonathan drawled. By now they were drawing attention to themselves. The man took a step closer, and Jonathan didn't react at all. He kept his hands down in his pockets, just kept staring at him like he was immensely bored. The man's friends were starting to stand now, grumbling to each other and glaring. A few of them were snapping at him, but he wasn't in the mood to listen. He just started walking so that he could round back the way he came.

The man wasn't having it, though. He lashed out and grabbed hard to Jonathan's arm, yanking him back. He'd only made it far enough to have them switch places. The bar in their immediate vicinity began to quiet as the confrontation grew more apparent. That silence would spread to permeate the entire building in a few seconds. The man yanked Jonathan closer and scowled. "What the _fuck_ is your deal!?" he demanded. Jonathan glared at him; the effort was half-hearted, but it seemed to do the trick to piss the other off. He yanked him even closer.

Jonathan twisted his arm to force the other to let go, despite the strong grip. And he lashed out, shoving him away. This was the final straw, and all that was left he needed to do. The second the man was stumbling backwards, he was flying back, leaping all too quickly to retaliation. Jonathan timed it well. He didn't move at first, and the man punched him hard across the face. He stumbled with the blow and had to blink through the dizziness it inflicted, but he jerked up from his hunched-over position and jabbed him hard in the ribs as he straightened up again. The man staggered and tried to throw another punch. This one, Jonathan avoided by stepping back. And he continued to step back, letting the other advance on him, yet keeping their distance the same.

The other landed another punch. Most of his friends were cheering him on, but there seemed to be one wise one of the group. He was rushing out now, grabbing at his friend's arms and trying to tug him back. Jonathan staggered, but he righted himself and punched back. By now the entire bar was watching and yelling, clearing the way and giving them space, if only to avoid getting hit too. The police officer who had been lounging at the bar, now only a couple yards away thanks to Jonathan's backtracking, jerked, his eyes flying wide. "Hey!" he snapped. Neither of them listened, and he started to rush out. _"Hey! Stop it!"_

Jonathan felt hands latch around his elbows— felt the police officer start to tug him back and away from his adversary. He started counting the seconds. The man punched him again, and this time Jonathan forced his knees to buckle, like he couldn't stand anymore. He started to drop to the floor, the officer forced to yank him up to try and keep him from hurting himself even more. Jonathan fell back into him hard, and they ended up stumbling backwards together as the officer continued to yank— now too hard. They backed up into the bar's edge, the officer still holding only holding onto him arms.

It left his hands free.

They recovered, the man stumbling off the bar and letting go of Jonathan, who staggered away to right himself. The man he'd been fighting was slowly calming down, not trying to fly at him anymore but still glaring furiously in his direction. But he wasn't nearly as furious as the officer was. "What in the _world_ are you two doing!?" he demanded, his voice scathing. Jonathan kept his head down. He said nothing. The officer swept on. But he was directing most of his attention on the other person. _"Come_ on, Nathan!" Of course he would know his name. "Are you really going to do all this again!?" Nathan was mute, but his anger did begin to ebb away. "You _know_ what happened last time, do I have to take you back down to the station all over again!? Put Julie through all that _mess_ again!?"

Nathan glared at Jonathan for a second more before he turned to the cop. "No," he answered gruffly.

The officer glowered from one person to the other. Jonathan stilled as his gaze drilled into him, now. "You wanna explain what happened here?" he snapped.

His reply was curt and stiff. Muttered so low it was difficult to hear. "It was an accident." He kept his head down.

The officer's eyes narrowed. He studied him harder. "I don't think I've seen you before." He was leaning, trying to get a better look at Jonathan's face. He ducked his head just the tiniest bit lower. The officer just grew more suspicious. "Who are you?"

Jonathan's mind was going a million miles per hour. He was trying to think of too many things at once. He started to try and track down an explanation, tried to get his mouth to open and spit something useful out. But he was struggling for some reason. The silence was just getting longer, and the officer was only getting more put-off with every second he didn't reply, and if he stayed there for too much longer then he would notice— "He's Jack." The voice was soft, but he looked over immediately to see Katie, from the store. She was looking at him with concern. But when the officer turned to her, she just nodded, very firmly. "He's visiting," she explained.

He hesitated, looking from her to Jonathan. After a pause, he said: "I don't appreciate _visitors_ that come into my town and make trouble." Jonathan kept his eyes on the floor. Under his breath, he muttered a small apology. Silence existed afterwards, in which the man just looked from one person to the other, judging what to do. Eventually his eyes narrowed, and he muttered begrudgingly: "I don't think we need to ruin a perfectly good Friday night any more than it already has been, _do_ we?" The two shook their heads in sync. The officer nodded, the gesture curt. "Alright. Then I'd _better_ not see _either of you_ even _look_ at each other again, do I make myself _clear?_ Nathan, this is time I'm letting you off— clean up your act. And _you."_ Jonathan still was ducked away. "I'd watch my step if I was you— most officers aren't as nice as I am. Consider this your first and last warning. You got me?"

Jonathan nodded.

He stared at him for a heartbeat longer, thoughtful. Before he shook his head and turned to the rest of the bar. "Alright!" he called out. "There's nothing else to see here— go back to your business." He shot the pair a dirty look before he started to turn back to the bartender. Jonathan was already walking, though. He squared his shoulders and left without so much as a glance in Nathan's direction. He made a beeline for the door, knowing his time was limited. He'd left his car down the street; he'd have to run as soon as he was out the door.

"Jack!" He jerked, glancing over his shoulder. Katie was smiling, trying to skirt around the crowd that had gathered around the fight and make her way over to him instead. When his eyes met hers, he saw sympathy there. It took him aback. "Jack, hang on a second!" He hesitated, caught off-guard for some reason, as he stared at her. But when she started getting too close he shook himself out of it. His expression steeled over again, and he turned his back on her, just quickening his pace and shoving himself out the door. As it slammed behind him he heard her yell his 'name' again. He put it out of his mind.

He just turned and took off down the street, making back for where he'd parked his car.

Feeling the weight of the police officer's gun stowed away in his back pocket as he ran.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _The ICU was silent at night. At least in the morning you could hear families visiting, or the odd patient that was actually awake ask for something, or would even yell out a couple of times. You could at least hear staff members talking back and forth. But night was when families cleared out, and the few patients that could actually open their eyes closed them again and fell asleep. In the days he had come to sit beside his brother, nobody had lifted an eyebrow at Jonathan, or even asked who he was in the first place. Maybe they were just preoccupied with other things. Maybe they just didn't care. The success was: he'd flown under the radar. So when night came, the others were warm – or at least_ lukewarm _– to the idea of leaving for a while to go back to the hotel, and letting him stay with Cam alone. There wasn't a danger of questions being asked, and they made him promise to call if anything happened. They were hesitant, and Dina was the most unsure. But the prospect of sleeping for a while in an actual bed was too tempting. Hospital couches and chairs didn't do much for you after the tenth day._

 _Currently, it was rounding off two in the morning. Jonathan was sitting at Cameron's bedside, where he'd been stationed all day. Cameron was, of course, sleeping. That detail never changed. Jonathan sighed, looking at him for a long time before he moved to prop his elbow up on the bed's railing and settle his chin in his hand. "You've been sleeping for more than an entire_ week, _Cameron," he whispered. He'd started out meaning to just talk normally, but somehow it felt wrong to speak above a murmur. He studied Cameron's face for the tiniest of reactions, but there were none to be seen. His eyes flashed, and he tacked on: "You've reached a new level of lazy…and I didn't even think that was_ possible _."_

 _He flashed him a smile, as if it he could see such a thing. As if he was worried Cameron wouldn't understand he was kidding. But the smile was quick to fade. It was barely there in the first place. His shoulders loosened, and he sighed. "But I guess…nothing is impossible, huh?" This he tried to laugh off as well. It was just as unsuccessful. Still, Cameron did nothing. Jonathan closed his eyes and ducked his head for a moment, to regather himself. He took in a quick breath and picked himself back up, forcing his eyes back open. When he spoke again, it was with more difficulty._

" _Look…you—" He breathed in fast again. He shook his head. "You need to wake up. Cam," he said bluntly. His eyes began to water when his brother did nothing. He kept talking. "Because...I've been patient with you this entire time…but…now you're getting on my nerves." He tried to smile, but it hurt too much to try. His laugh was fragile, like glass. "I know you like attention…and I know you're just_ basking _in all of this right now…but you're being annoying. You're being obnoxious." There was nothing but sorrow in his eyes now, and his voice was laden with it. It was beginning to break. He felt a tear slide down his cheek and his breathing began to grow the tiniest bit punctured._

 _The attempted humor fell away from him. His lips shook as his expression started to crumble. The foundation he'd tried to set up and keep stable wasn't as firm as he'd thought it was. He reached up and wiped at his eyes and gasped. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, trying to be harsh but failing as he just cried instead. His voice was quickly falling to pieces. "What on_ earth _were you thinking— why did you think you could still do the trick? Why didn't you say anything? Why are you_ so _stupid— you're_ so _stupid, Cameron! You shouldn't have gone!" He looked at all the tubing, the wiring, the casting, and crumbled even more. "And now you're…now…"_

 _He had to stop and breathe a couple times to keep himself at least part of the way centered. His arm dropped back down to the mattress and he leaned in closer, putting a hand on his brother's. Lightly, in case it was one of the many bones he'd shattered in his collision. He could barely force out his next words. "You can't die, Cameron," he sobbed quietly. He didn't even bother wiping at his cheeks anymore. There wasn't a use, when new tears would just replace the ones he brushed away. "You can't die…'cause we have to die together. We go out together, Cameron, or we don't go out at all._ That's _the deal. That's what you_ said."

 _He searched desperately for even the tiniest hint that his brother could hear him. But there was nothing. It felt like someone was carving into him with a dull knife. "You can't die without me," Jonathan croaked. "And you're_ definitely _not allowed to die first. And not from something this stupid. You always told me you wanted to go out with bang— are you telling me you're letting_ this _be how you leave?" He sniffed, his shoulders curling forward like he was in pain. "Don't you_ dare _die on me, Cameron," he hissed, soberer now. His lower lip wavered. He closed his eyes tightly. "I don't know who I am without you."_

 _These words had been spoken before. But unlike before, they weren't bathed in bitterness, or used to prove some kind of point in an argument. They were just earnest. Almost fearful. Because Jonathan really_ didn't. _He didn't know who he was without Cameron, and he knew that at least in this moment, in this instant, he didn't_ want _to. The thought of tomorrow coming without him in it was enough to chill Jonathan to the bone. He didn't want it. He'd had Cameron by his side all his life. Cameron knew him better than anyone, like the back of his hand. He was the person he was closest to. If he died, he would lose that. He would lose his best friend. Yeah, he might be given the opportunity to drop this whole charade and be his own person, but what was the use of that? When he would lose the person he loved the most? Who loved_ him _the most?_

 _He'd be lost. This feeling he had with him now – this sorrow – would only get worse. And it would never leave, or ebb in ferocity. It would replace Cameron, and that meant it would never leave him. Because_ Cameron _was never_ supposed _to leave him. He sniffed and opened his eyes again, actually having to wipe at them this time because they were filled with so much water he couldn't see anything. He swallowed hard and started to lean back in his chair. Started to give up on trying to bargain. When suddenly he stopped short, freezing._

 _Cameron hadn't moved or shifted at all. He wasn't making a noise, either. If Jonathan hadn't been sitting so close to him, he wouldn't have thought he reacted at all. But given the proximity, and how he was practically hunched over him at this point, he_ did _see it. The tiny,_ tiny _hint of blue. The tiny sliver that was barely anything at all. It was hardly there, hardly noticeable. But_ Jonathan _noticed. He noticed at once. Cameron's eyes were open just the tiniest bit. They were cracked, not even half-lidded…but he was there. He could see him. And immediately a gasp was catching hard in his throat._

" _Cameron!" Still, it was only a strangled whisper. Cameron's eyes slid closed— shut that tiny millimeter of space that was hardly there as it was. Jonathan gasped again, his heart lodging hard in his throat. The hope that had started to break pathetically hard over his face began to recede immediately back into despair and horror. That he'd had him for one tiny second, and he was being taking away from him all over again. His throat began to burn, his hands curled tight around the siderails of the bed, tears pricked his eyes like dozens of tiny needles. He started to crumble even more than he had already started to._

 _But then, after nearly ten full seconds, Cameron pried them open again, still only that tiny little bit. But tiny as it was, it was putting Jonathan over the moon. "Cameron!" An ecstatic smile was spreading over his face, and relieved laughter was bubbling around every word he said. His eyes burned with even more tears. "Cameron, are you awake? Can you hear me? Are you awake?" Cameron reacted to none of this. Jonathan leaned closer, and he put his hand down on his again. "Cameron, it's_ me _," he hissed almost urgently. "It's Jonathan— I'm here. I'm here, and you're fine. Everything is fine— everything is going to be just fine. I promise, Cam, I_ promise." _Fervently, he was struggling to reassure him. Like he always did, when they were kids. He wished he could hug him. He would wrap him up in the tightest hug he'd ever managed, and he'd refuse to let him go, if only he could. But he had to be satisfied with this._

 _He leaned even closer, daring to put a little more pressure on his hand. "You're going to be okay, Cam," he sniffed. "You're going to be okay, you're going to get out of this. I promise. You're going to get out of this. Even though you don't_ deserve _to because you were so_ stupid _and you're an_ idiot _Cameron, and this_ proves _that_ I'm the smarter twin _, you don't get to argue against me anymore because at the very least, I would never do something as_ stupid _as this. I'm officially taking that card away from you, you can't play it anymore, you_ moron." _He said it all in a rush, practically stumbling over his own words, practically blending them together. He sniffed again and looked at Cameron hard, trying to keep ahold of those eyes and make them stay open, or maybe even open up a little more. To his shock, though Cameron couldn't manage to open his eyes wider, the corner of his mouth_ did _twitch upwards, in the tiniest, most_ miniscule _way._

 _In a way that someone else might not even notice._

 _But Jonathan noticed._

 _A watery laugh bubbled up from his throat. He ducked his head and shook it, trying and failing to feign disappointment. "You're the_ worst _, Cameron," he sobbed happily. "I hate you_ so _much, I_ hate _you, you're the_ worst." _He was smiling so big that his cheeks were aching. The tiny twitch on Cameron's face was gone, and his eyes slid closed again. This time, they stayed that way, even when Jonathan paused and gave him time to try again. The brief burst of consciousness was gone as soon as it had come in the first place. But Jonathan wasn't disappointed. He only felt overwhelming relief— relief so strong he was practically shaking._

 _The smile stayed put on his face. He kept talking, even though he knew Cameron was out again. "You're okay," he reassured softly, his words dropping back down into a whisper. He kept his hand where it was, and where it would stay for the rest of the night. Instead of finding hurt in the beeping of the heart monitor, he was trying to find comfort. Now that he knew his brother was still here. "You're gonna be okay, Cam, don't worry," he reassured. "You're going to be just fine, I'm— I'm going to stay right here, I'm right here with you— you're going to be okay…"_

He was almost to the car. He was already getting his keys out again, already prepared to shove them into the ignition and drive as far away from this town as possible. He had the disguise – it could be better, and he could maybe work with it more – and now he had an actual weapon. The two things he needed most, and he'd gotten them here. In and out, in the most unsuspecting place he could stumble upon. Now all he had to do was get out of range. That was the first step. Once he was far enough, he could think about what to do, he could stop and regroup and—

A noise made him stop. He could see his car— he was close, practically already there. But a sudden ringing caused him to slow and halt. He gasped for air as he did, and once his eyes found the source of the shrill sound, he did a double-take. His forehead creased, and he looked around the entire area, like he was looking for someone to blame. But the street was completely empty, save for him. Katie had gotten the message— she hadn't tried to follow him out. It was just him outside. In the dark. Staring at the public phone he'd passed earlier this morning, which was now ringing with an incoming call.

He hesitated. Looked back to his car, inwardly debating. He knew he should keep running. He knew this was only going to slow him down. Only going to give the officer time to realize his gun was missing from his holster. He knew he should get to the car. But he didn't. It took a second for him to move, and when he did, it was to veer for the phone, instead. It was on its fifth ring by the time he got to it, and it was halfway through its sixth when he picked up and put it to his ear. He said nothing— he just waited for the other person to speak. And speak they did.

"Hello, Jonathan."

Her voice chilled him to the bone. At first. At first, his eyes just widened; his face just paled. He stared ahead blankly, completely numb from the shock. Just like he'd felt when he'd seen Cameron on the floor of the vault. But, just like then, as soon as it finished smacking him in the face, it was being replaced with anger. Fury. His grip on the receiver tightened, his teeth gnashed together. He saw red. Still, he did nothing. Just choked on his rage. Just saw Cameron in his mind's eye again, laying on the floor completely unresponsive to the efforts of resuscitation.

MW's voice was just as soft as it always was. Just as nonchalant. "I think I like you better with black hair," she said conversationally.

He turned, looking in all directions. Trying to find her. When he spoke, his words were spat through his still-clenched teeth. _"Where are you?"_

"Do you miss me already?"

He practically screamed at the smug tone in her voice. His own was choked so much it was difficult to understand. "Where the _fuck_ are you?" he repeated, harder this time.

"Are you regretting not taking my offer?" she mused. "It's still on the table. You can still take it."

He was breathing heavily. Practically gasping. It was nearly five whole seconds before he could compose himself enough to reply. He was holding onto the phone so tight his knuckles were white. "You killed my brother," he snarled.

There was brief silence on the other end. Before: " _I_ didn't kill him. You could have dragged him out of the vault first. You didn't." Tears burned his eyes, and Jonathan gasped, ducking his head and hitting it against the box. He held even tighter to the phone. By now, it was probably close to snapping in half. "But is that _really_ a bad thing?" He opened his eyes, glowering down at the ground. "Look at you, Jonathan…you're _free._ And not just from Rockland. Your entire _life_ has been one long prison sentence…something you couldn't escape, no matter how much you tried. There was _always_ something in your way, always something _keeping you from that freedom._ But now…it's gone. Now, there's nothing there to hold you back." There was a long pause. Before she pressed: "I know you, Jonathan. I know that deep down, this is what you wanted."

"You don't know me at all," Jonathan hissed. "He wasn't an _'it'_ he was my _brother_." His voice broke, with this. She said nothing, and he snapped again: "Where are you?"

"What are you going to do when you find me?" she challenged. "Kill me?"

He said nothing.

"I'm the only one that saw you for what you really were. A prisoner. Cameron's prisoner." His vision blurred even more. "I freed you from your life— I freed you from _him._ Him and all the others that forced you to pretend you didn't exist. Now he's gone. Now you're free to be your own person…to be what he never allowed you to be. I know you feel it. I know you've _wanted_ it for so long. That's why I gave it to you." She paused, before she reiterated. "I know you. And now…I'm the _only_ one that truly knows you." His stomach fell. He didn't collapse, but he staggered, like he might. "And I'm the only one that truly cares about you, Jonathan…"

He said nothing.

The smile was evident in her voice when she asked: "So what _are_ you going to do when you find me?" He remained mute. "Kill me…or thank me?"

He was speechless. Numb.

"I've only been trying to help you…everything I've done has been for you, Jonathan," she murmured. "From the very first night, after your show…all I've done was done for you. Maybe you just need to remember it." There was a few seconds of silence. Before she offered: "Maybe you just need to go back to that night." He looked up and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, there was a small click on the other line. Then silence…she'd hung up. He knew this and yet he still didn't move. He just looked emptily into the dark with the phone up to his ear. Slowly, his let his arm slacken back down to his side. Dropped the phone so it swung downward. He didn't even look at it. Didn't even start making for his car right away.

All he did, for what felt like forever, was stand there and stare.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _I'm dying."_

" _You're actually not. I think they ruled that out two weeks ago."_

" _No, I'm_ pretty sure _I'm dying."_

" _Okay, I'll play along." Jonathan cleared his throat and asked blandly:_ "Why _are you dying, Cameron?"_

" _Because I'm_ bored!" _Cameron was glaring ahead, like he'd been doing for the past hour and a half. Jonathan had warned him five times now that he was going to burn a hole through the wall if he wasn't careful. Cameron had disregarded the advice. "Do you know how_ boring _it is to just_ lay _here_ all _day!? I've been laying in this bed for_ ages! _And they still won't let me get up— this is…like, patient…abuse, what is that called?" He must have shifted too much as he said this because he immediately flinched, blowing out a large huff of air instead of groaning. The pain lingered on his face, though, straining him as he closed his eyes tightly._

" _It's called: 'Not what this is,'" Jonathan returned. He had pulled the recliner up next to Cameron's bed and was currently lounging on it sideways. Dina had taken the other chair, and Gunter was siting in the windowsill. Jordan had gone down to the cafeteria to get food a while ago. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but this_ might _be the reason people don't_ typically _fling themselves to the ground from thirty feet up in the air." He turned back to his book pointedly to ignore the furious look he was sure Cameron was shooting him. "You're not_ supposed _to be rewarded, Cam. This is your punishment. Just be glad physical therapy is coming to see you again tomorrow."_

" _That's a whole twenty-four hours from now," he whined. Ever the impatient twin._

" _Well, think of it this way: in two hours, it'll only be twenty-two."_

" _Shut up," Cameron growled. "You're supposed to have sympathy for me."_

" _I'd have more sympathy if you didn't deserve this one hundred percent," he replied casually._

" _Let's focus on the positives, Cameron!" Dina chimed in. Cameron blew out his cheeks, and kept glaring at the wall. "You're out of the ICU, you have a much better view outside your window now, and you're getting stronger every day! Just last week you were hardly able to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time!"_

" _I wanna go back to that," Jonathan announced._

"I _want to go back to the five glorious minutes I was an only child," Cameron grumbled._

 _He closed his book. "Cameron, for the_ last _time,_ I a _m the older one!"_

" _You are_ not!"

" _Shhhh!" Dina snapped, glaring at the two, and then glancing at the door in case anyone was there. But they kept it closed religiously, and nobody must have been in the middle of their rounds. Her eyes flashed, and she looked at the two reproachfully. "Knock it off! Who knows who could be listening! Use your heads!" she snapped. Cameron snorted, and Jonathan couldn't keep himself from doing the same once he heard him. It only made her angrier. She rolled her eyes. "You're both children. I'm a glorified babysitter." But there was a softness in her eyes when she looked at Cameron and proposed a little gentler: "How's your pain level, darling?"_

" _It_ was _at a nine, but now it's a ten because I have to look at Jonathan's face," he returned._

" _Okay, I don't have to take this," he snapped. He hopped up from the recliner and threw a pointed look down at his twin. "Because_ I _can walk out of here," he said lightly._

" _That's low. Even for you," Cameron said. Jonathan smirked, and Cameron moved on quickly. "Bring me back Jell-O."_

" _I think you're half gelatin by this point," Jonathan mused._

" _Then that must be the half of me that doesn't hurt." He gave him a puppy dog look. Which Jonathan rolled his eyes at. "Please?"_

 _He smiled, about to say of course he would. When Dina interjected reluctantly. "Jonathan, I…actually…think it might be time for you to go." His face fell when she said this. So did Cameron's. She grimaced at their reactions, but kept going all the same. "Now that Cameron is doing so much better…it might be best for you to just stay at the hotel." She spoke in a whisper, so nobody would hear. Jonathan could barely hear, and he was only a few feet away. "You can't keep avoiding the press forever, and eventually the staff is going to be asking questions, if they haven't started asking each other already." The ICU staff were usually much too busy to stop and try to map out the relationships their patients had. But here on the more general floor, they had time to gossip and talk with their patients. So far, they've been less telling of his fabricated story. They'd just hinted of a relationship of some sort and left it at that. But it was still unnerving. The risk was too ever-present. And it wasn't likely their story would hold up for forever._

 _All it took was_ one _curious person with too much time on their hands to realize an Adam Jones didn't live in Portland Oregon and came all the way up here to see Cameron because he was hurt, and they had a history. Or if they did, they wouldn't match Jonathan's disguised description. Not to mention that it was such a hassle to constantly do and re-do the disguise in the exact same way, sneaking him in and out of the hospital in order to start all over again. There were way too many variables, and they were all on thin ice. Anyone could find out if they dug hard enough. Before now, when it was a question as to whether Cameron would recover at all, or recover fully, the risk was more worth it. Now…it was running its course._

 _Jonathan wilted and looked at Cameron. He seemed just as disappointed. But Dina was being practical. At some point, she had to, they figured. Somebody did, anyway. Jonathan cleared his throat and nodded once. A little stiffly. His voice took after the same attribute. "Okay…no, you…I guess you have a point. It's…it'd probably…be safer if I just…stay back."_

" _I'm sorry, Jonathan," Dina offered weakly._

 _He shook his head again. "No, it's…don't be— it's fine. Really." The words were offset by the stiff tone they were delivered in. But at the very least, he wasn't objecting, like she'd feared. He coughed and looked at Cameron, giving him a softer, a little sadder, smile. His brother looked pained. More so, than before. Jonathan cleared his throat and shook his head. "Get Gunter to get you Jell-O, he hasn't moved all morning," he joked. Gunter made an offended noise, but Jonathan didn't acknowledge it. He just looked at his brother, his eyes flashing with something he was holding back. "I'll call you. Tonight," he offered. "To…see how you're doing."_

 _Cameron tried to give him a smile. It was a bit too flimsy to pass. "Okay." He hesitated before he said: "Thank you. For…staying when you did. It was…" He stopped short, and just let the thought die. Jonathan's eyes flashed again; he felt a certain kind of tightness in his chest. The two of them stared at one another, neither of them speaking but both of them seeming to understand, at the same time. That despite the horrible situation, and despite the difficulties that were still ahead because of it…they'd been together. Not as long as they wanted, and nobody else knew, but they'd been together somewhere other than just the house._

 _The silence seemed to stretch forever. Before Jonathan cleared his throat again and ducked his head in a little nod. His voice was a little louder and more rigid than normal when he spoke again. "Yeah. Any time." Even though the sentiment wasn't true. Jonathan had liked staying. Being with everyone. Disguised, but in a public place. He'd liked being able to stay with his brother, and not lying awake at night because he was so worried about what was going to happen to him while he was away. But Dina was right. Now that Cameron was okay, and he would stay that way, it was time to go. He'd go around back, and skirt through all the press and the fans that were relentlessly flocking around the hospital. He'd go back to the hotel room and just…wait long enough so he could call. "I'm glad you're okay, Cam."_

 _Cameron smiled. A much stronger one than the one he'd offered in the ICU— an actual smile, that was actually conscious. His old smile. The smile Jonathan had seen his entire life. And though there was an ache in his chest as he turned and left the hospital room, closely followed by Dina, forced back into hiding when really all he wanted to do was stay with his brother…that smile helped. Marginally. He kept it in his mind the entire way down, and he found himself still holding onto it when he was back in the hotel room. He reminded himself of it and comforted himself with it. Because it was there. It was there, and it was strong, and it was Cameron._

 _It was his brother._

 _Despite everything, he'd gotten his brother back. For a frightening, all-too-real moment, he'd thought he wouldn't. He'd thought he'd lost him and just the mere idea of that being that outcome instead was mortifying. Cameron had pulled through. He was back, and he was smiling, and he was annoying everyone within a five-foot radius again. Everything was back to normal. Nothing else mattered. Everything else was trivial. Everything else he could swallow._

 _His brother was back. His smile was back._

 _That was all that mattered._

He pulled over. He'd tried to keep driving, but he couldn't. Eventually it got to be too much. It kept building and layering and eventually he had to swerve over and slam on the brakes. He had to rip open the door and stumble outside. He skirted to the other side, away from the road, and he leaned against the passenger side door, holding his head in his hands. He dug his fingernails into his skull, he felt his legs shake like he couldn't keep himself up for very much longer. He couldn't breathe through the emotion that was crushing his chest, and he didn't even know what the emotion was. He didn't know whether it was rage that was choking him, or whether it was horrible sadness. He didn't know if he wanted to turn around and punch straight through the car window, or whether he wanted to collapse and scream into the ground.

He didn't do either. What he did do was slowly sink down to sit and pull his knees up to his chest. His eyes were burning; his throat was on fire, and his vision was warping. He cringed and jerked to hit the back of his head against the wheel he was leaning against. He muttered a curse under his breath, glowering ahead with hatred. Thinking of the smug smile he'd heard in MW's voice and barely able to keep himself from screaming because of it. He sucked in a harsh breath, trying to calm down before he could begin to hyperventilate. He started trying to slow his inhales. Tried to stop everything from spinning so he could get a grip.

When he picked his head up, though, his eyes caught on something. He sniffed, his legs falling more to the side. His livid scowl began to trickle away and weaken. The road was bordered by a strip of grass, dead by the cold. And beyond that expanse were just-as-dead trees. Their branches were bare, their bark flimsy. The kind of forest that, in the summer, would probably look thick and intimidating. Now, it barely even looked like a forest, from where Jonathan was sitting. But he wasn't really looking at the trees themselves.

He sat still for a long moment, not moving a muscle. But then, slowly, like it hurt to move, he pushed himself up and started for the tree line. His footsteps seemed too loud against the leaves. He didn't walk all that far. A handful of yards. He still kept the car in sight, in case he needed it. He couldn't go too far, because he needed the light from his headlights to see in the dark. But he made for one of the bigger trees, his stare growing heavier and heavier the closer he got.

When he reached the base of it, he sat back down. Heavily, with a muffled thud. He stared down at the stick that had caught his eye; his heart was doubling and tripling in weight. It felt hard to breathe. It was fairly big…it must have snapped off from somewhere. Maybe from a storm. He stared at it but didn't make any sort of move towards it. He just stared. It was just now occurring to him how many days he'd been running. But more importantly, how many days it had been since Cameron had died.

When was the funeral? Was there _going_ to be a funeral? Had it already happened? Had he missed it? He was so caught up in everything, he hadn't even realized, but now it was finally occurring to him: he might have missed Cameron's funeral. He might have missed his own brother's funeral. Someone he'd been with his whole life, someone he was _born_ with, and he might have missed the moment they put him in the ground. He might have missed seeing him one last time, he might have missed the opportunity to give his eulogy. The eulogy he _wanted_ to give.

He might have missed the chance to stand up in front of everyone that had meant anything to Cameron and tell them that it wasn't fair he was gone now, and that nothing would be the same. He would have told them about all the times they were kids and Cameron had made him smile when he didn't think it was possible. How when they were ten, Cameron had reliably informed him that he was the greatest person in the entire world, and that everyone should feel awful because they didn't get to know him like he did. How when Cameron was thirteen – yes, _thirteen_ – he had cried for an _hour_ when he'd found out Santa didn't actually exist. He would have told them that growing up, Cameron hated learning new, claustrophobia-inducing tricks— how he'd always panic and say he couldn't do it and he wanted to quit. How Jonathan would always reassure him through it, and whenever Cameron wrenched himself out of whatever it was, the first thing he'd do was sprint for him and throw his arms around him. How he'd shaken, but had laughed and said it was easy.

He would have told them how kind Cameron was. How he messed up, and he messed up a lot, but he was always doing his best.

He would have told them how he didn't deserve to die. Not this soon.

But he might have missed it. He'd disappointed Cameron already by not being able to save him the way he was supposed to. Now he was disappointing him even more; now he was letting him down by not being there for him when they buried him. It was the least he could do, and he couldn't even do _that._ His lips were shaking, his expression being twisted back in that horrible mixture of sorrow and anger. He reached out and picked up the stick. He ducked his head, shaking it hard and mindlessly. He remembered Cameron's voice. From so long ago, not his anymore…but...it _was_ his, because now it was all Jonathan had: recollections. He remembered how excited he'd sounded.

" _When a magician dies, you take their wand and you snap it in half."_

He cringed, his stomach twisting in choking grief as he ducked even lower. His shoulders started to shake, his breaths turned into gasps. He'd ruined _everything._ He'd killed Cameron— abandoned him when he'd needed him, both by not being able to open the door _and_ by not being able to force his heart back into beating. He'd run away, likely making everything harder for Dina and them, with the FBI most likely focusing solely on him and not on Cameron. Brushing right past his death, like Jonathan _knew_ they would anyway, but still. He barely had any kind of a plan, and he could barely get himself to have the tiniest shred of the rationality he usually had. And he was there, instead of there. Not helping arrange anything, not seeing him one last time, not giving him the tombstone he deserved.

" _You break the wand and the family keeps all the pieces. It's supposed to show that the magic is all gone, but the memory of it isn't. Or something like that."_

His grip got harder and harder, until suddenly Jonathan jerked and snapped the stick in half. He opened his eyes and looked down dully at the pieces, now separate in each hand. At the jagged middle. At first, he just stared at it numbly, not even able to feel anything at all. Until his expression got harder— until his jaw set back. _"Wait, does it…does it_ really _bother you?"_ His shoulders started to shake more; his vision was blurring again, and his chest was getting hotter. His hands were trembling again. He thought of Cameron's face; of the way he'd stared at him, confused. _"It's not like it's going to_ happen _anytime soon, I was just pointing out that—"_

He screwed his eyes shut and acted without any thought at all. He just saw red once more as he moved and did it again. He yanked apart the pieces and he _kept_ yanking them apart, snapping the stick into halves over and over again. Into smaller pieces, and snapping _those_ pieces into even smaller ones. Hating himself, and hating MW, and hating Cameron. Thinking about how he'd grinned and declared: _"Well,_ I _like it."_ Yanking apart the stupid stick that wasn't even a stupid wand like the stupid tradition that Cameron had wanted— the one Jonathan had hated immediately, had tried to reject because the thought of having a funeral was mortifying to him even _then_ when it wasn't even happening, but now here they were and Cameron was dead and he was here and he wasn't _there_ to say goodbye and he was never going to be able to make that up to him, just like he wasn't able to change the fact he'd killed him, he'd _killed_ his brother, he'd _murdered_ him and—

His thoughts – erratic now and wild beyond his control – were sliced in half the second his palm was. He yanked too hard, too close to his skin. He hissed, his eyes flying wide as he dropped everything. All the pieces clattered to the ground; he jerked it closer to his chest, his fingers curling at the sharp pain that burned through his hand. He looked down, gritting his teeth at the sight of the gash he'd accidentally made. From his index finger almost all the way to his thumb; blood was already welling up from the cut and smearing over his skin.

He grimaced against the sting, cringing and pressing down on the injury with his other hand. It wasn't that huge a cut. It probably wouldn't bleed _that_ long, or that much. But he was furious anyway. He still seethed, still growled in the back of his throat and slammed himself back into the tree. He scowled at the pieces of the stick he'd broken up, even more tears welling up in his eyes. He lashed out and kicked them all away. He wiped at his eyes roughly with his shoulder, but there wasn't any use.

Tears still dripped down his cheeks; his breathing still punctured and gasped. He looked up at his car he'd left on the side of the road, and the stretch of lonely forest between him and it. The fragments of the stick he'd broken apart scattered in front of him and useless, considering they weren't even what Cameron had wanted. And that was the _point._ Sitting there, Jonathan started to cry because this wasn't what Cameron wanted. _None_ of this was what Cameron wanted. And none of this was what _he_ wanted, either. It was all a mess. It was a huge _fucking_ mess.

He ducked his head and held his hand, leaning so that he could cry into his knees. Not bothering to choke back his sobs because he was the only one here. The only one that would be able to hear the broken wailing that keened out of his throat.

That suffocating feeling was back. The horrible gut-wrenching feeling he couldn't even identify. He didn't know what it was, but he _did_ know that he was drowning in it. He didn't know whether to scream, or cry. He didn't know whether to run back to the car and slam on the gas, or just give up entirely. He didn't know whether he wanted to find MW or whether he wanted to run back home— do what Cameron would have wanted him to do, and hug the team and apologize. He didn't know whether he wanted to finish this in the way he'd first intended, or rush back home and grieve the way he wanted to now.

Nothing was right— everything was wrong. Nothing made sense. Not anymore.

He just didn't know…

He didn't know whether he wanted to kill, or whether he wanted to die.


End file.
